//------------------------------// // Hard Reset (Z): The Road to Fillydelphia // Story: Awkward Conversations And Other Stories // by No one is home //------------------------------// “I have to find a job, Whatserface! We’ve been in Dodge City days! I’m eating better than ever, but I’m gonna be sleeping on the street soon!” Z-978 was feeling desperate. “What you mean the ponies won’t just give you bits just for being a cute, friendly little changeling?” Whatserface, wearing the form of a chartreuse pegasus mare with orange and black striped mane and tail and three cutie parasprites for a cutie mark, raised an eyebrow, “Didn’t that kinder gentler new hive in Canterlot give you any ideas about how a changeling could make a few bits?” “They said I should look for a job,” Z shook her head, “They said that there were ‘other’ ways I could feed and make bits. They seemed embarrassed to say exactly how, but I have a pretty good idea… I’d rather just find a job.” “Well, then,” Whatserface smiled warmly, “What are your skills? What did you do at the hive?” “Well, I didn’t really leave the hive much… at all really,” Z-978 thought carefully, “I was a worker changeling, mostly I sorted the incoming and out-going emotion transfers. Once love is extracted it has to be sorted and distributed…” “Ah,” Whatserface picked up an imaginary phone, “Hello, Pony Resources Department, do you have any jobs available in sorting and distributing raw emotional nectar? You don’t??? Well, imagine that.” “I-I’m good at teaching things,” Z stammered, “I used to teach the other drones little tricks I picked up. I helped some of them come up with better names after we escaped….” “I see,” the other changeling went back to her make-believe telephone, “Well, she’s good at teaching, and she’s good with foals from what I’ve seen, and she’s very friendly, maybe you could hire a changeling as a school teacher? Hello? Hello?? They hung up on me!” Whatserface grinned at her little joke, as Z-978 sunk to the floor in defeat. “Oh don’t be like that! I said I had a place for you to go in Filly, and I meant it,” Whatserface soothed, “The Factory’s been a thing since the invasion. A lot of us escaped in the aftermath of the massacre. It was fairly easy, casualties were so high, the queen just assumed we had died. We made certain… arrangements... with city officials, to keep our operation of the books and out of the papers. The Filly Factory is the best known changeling secret in equestria. We’re not a real hive, of course. We have no queen, but that hasn’t stopped us. We grow by recruiting disenchanted Drones and leaders from the hive… hives now. With this free-range initiative, I doubt you’ll even be the first changeling from new hive to sign on. You certainly won’t be the only one. So you’ll see some of your old friends maybe?” “The Filly Factory,” Z gave her friend an odd look, “I’ve heard stories around Canterlot, mostly from pervy old stallions. But I never knew it was run by changelings.” “Like I said,” Whatserface grinned happily, “Best known secret in Equestria! After all, who’s gonna tell? Our clients? If our secret gets out so does theirs!” “What about the authorities?” Z shook her head a little. “Not a problem when they already know,” Whatserface grinned, “Let me break it down for you…” -=-=-=-=- You see, Fillydelphia has a certain reputation that makes it a target of… let's call it, unwanted tourism. To the feminista fillies who make up the bulk of the population, the constant flow of low-grade stallions who can’t even find love with Equestria’s already ridiculous female to male ratio tring to improve their odds by going to a city where that ratio is more ridiculous to extremes. It never occurs to them that mares move to a city that’s almost completely populated with mares for a reason most of the time. A very specific reason. Imagine you’re a pony filly-fooler. You’ve got yourself this whole nice little city of fillyfoolers. Then word gets out. Pretty soon every stallion who can’t hit a piece of tail to save his life in his hometown is rushing in to ‘help’ solve your ‘problem’, figuring that if he surrounds himself with mares his odds have to increase. Well this is a double edged sword. On the one hoof, tourism is booming, and the money’s rolling in. On the other hoof, these stallions are annoying the living shit out of the local filly-foolers. Plus, repeat tourism is running dry as more and more disillusioned stallions are spreading the word that it’s not what they thought. That’s where we came in. Like I said, we approached the City after the invasion. The Boss, you’ll like him, we call him Mr. N, anyway, he approaches the city council in the most garishly tacky pony disguise ever imagined, wearing a ridiculous hat with an even more ridiculously large feather. One of the council-mares, a coltish brown earth-pony by the name of Velvet Hammer, well she realizes something is off about this stallion. “Ladies of the City Council,” Mr. N began to address the mares, when Velvet Hammer jumped from her seat. “HE’S A CHANGELING!” she shouted as she pointed at the boss. Well, at that point we all thought we were doomed. As instructed when had infiltrated the audience in less conspicuous disguises, given instruction to do nothing but watch and wait, no matter what happened, for Mr. N’s signal. To our surprise, the boss just grinned widely at the accusation. “Yes, ladies,” He bowed and took his natural shape with a sweep of that ridiculous hat, “I am the leader of a group of refugees from the tyrant, Queen Chrysalis. We seek asylum in your fair city.” “We have enough trouble with unwanted pony guests,” Velvet Hammer attested to many affirmations, “Why should we take on changeling parasites, as well?” “We need not be parasites,” Mr. N pressed his case, “That is merely what our queen has dragged us down into becoming. I’d prefer a more symbiotic relationship…” And so the Filly Factory was established. A lightning rod to draw off the worst of the nuisance tourists away from the good citizens of Fillydelphia, and a honey pot to keep them coming back and throwing their bits at the city. Using varying zoning tactics and exclusive contracts with miss Hammer construction business, we created a special district, just outside of town, in an eye-sore community that the respectable ponies avoided anyway. Basically, Velvet Hammer was rewriting the laws at Mr. N's direction, restricting certain business had to be located in designated zones. All of those zones are all grouped together in one place, and what property isn’t owned by us is owned by Velvet Hammer. -=-=-=-=- “And that’s how we got started,” Whatserface smiled as she finished her story, “It’s good all around. With all the seedier business relocated in one location that’s as easy to avoid as it is to find, respectable tourism started coming back. The less welcome tourists are now pretty much out of sight and out of mind. The city coffers stay full, the lonely stallions find company, and the changelings stay fed. Everypony wins.” “It sounds wonderful,” Z-978 said after thinking a moment, “I’m just not sure if I’m comfortable with… that. I was never a harvest changeling…” “Just give it some thought,” Whatserface smiled warmly, “And remember, we’ll never turn you away…” “It wasn’t like that!” Z said defensively, “The new Queen is kind, and good. She’s trying to save us all from starvation! I was judged to be smart and independent enough to care for myself. It was my duty to make room for others who couldn’t!” “Woah,” Whatserface replied evenly, “I’m not dissing Queen Fast! From what we’ve heard, she’s doing a great job with a really bad situation. But she wasn’t hatched a changeling like we were. There’s things she doesn’t understand. Like that changeling were never meant to be alone in the world. Just think about it. It’s a long ride to Filly. And save your bits from here on out. Just stick with Auntie Whatserface. I’m taking you to the promised land.”