Carol City, Equestria
A crunched ball of paper rolled between Ditzy's forehooves as she sat in front of her coffee table, staring through the kitchen window out into the neon-lit dark. Warm drafts seeped into the room through the open windows, though the curtains barely moved. A couple of empty water bottles stood on the table, along with a few additional scraps of paper and a large book, its pages faintly illuminated by the dark yellow lava lamp.
After some time, the mare quit juggling the ball and tossed it into the trash. With a sigh, she leaned over the table, and her good eye went back to the large tome.
...as well as other unethical activities have seen a ban on research into Queen-era changeling activity. To the chagrin of the sentient life form rights organizations, who proposed a complete wipe of the records on the matter, several renowned scientific libraries have accepted the raw works, as well as papers that were derived from the subject…
...coinciding with the resurgence in interest around the years 1008-1010, greatly expanded after the Incident at San Franciscolt in the fall of 1009. Purportedly, the methods described were successfully used in the investigation into the series of murders that stretched from the current territory of New Canterlot and to Packsmulle…
...barbaric methods exaggerated in urban myths, up to and including the concept of synapse potent changelings freely using drones for food when none is available. Similarly dubious is the comparison between euphorium, created for sustenance of the changeling population as part of the Prejudice Rock Pact, and the substance used by the Queen's synapse potent scouts to keep themselves from 'going feral' while infiltrating deep into Equestria. The existence of such rumors, in turn, is clearly inspired by the actions of certain synaptic changelings during the Wedding War, which ties directly into....
The mare’s hooves rummaged through the heap of papers on the table, eventually singling out a glossy card with colorful print on it. Her eyes slipped closed and she drew out a sigh.
The Equestria Delivery Customer Support Service thanks you for reaching out to us!
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RE-ENTER REQUEST: CCPD “Seashore Predator” investigation sci. aux. copies + classified documents.
PROOF OF VALIDITY: Pigeon. 45 Starling Ave, 88 Starling Ave, 25 Belle St., (½) 16 Tejuano Heights.
She reached for a pen in a tray nearby and added a few more words to the last section.
PROOF OF VALIDITY: Pigeon. 45 Starling Ave, 88 Starling Ave, 25 Belle St., (½) 16 Tejuano Heights, 32 Sugar Trail.
The pen almost jotted up the entire card when the mare jerked in her seat, her ear twitching from a noise to her left. A bead of sweat emerged above her eyebrows as she slowly turned around to face it with her good eye. She smiled and let out the breath she had been holding when the noise turned out to have been Ditzy, trudging by in yellow pajamas. She was dragging a head-sized plushie by its leg on the floor behind her, shambling toward the kitchen with eyes half open.
“I know, I—” The filly yawned. “I knooow… I just… I need to drink something, that’s all. So hot, I can’t fall asleep…”
Ditzy waited until her daughter turned the corner at the table and faced the water decanter near the fridge. The first chance she got, she quietly scooped up the papers, placed one in the book she was reading and stuffed the rest into the small drawer under the coffee table. The large book itself remained, coverless, on the table, the weight of the bland pages pressing down on an opened envelope.
The filly nearly spilled some of the water as she poured herself a drink. Her mother was already off the chair and at her side by the time she started gulping it down..
“Why’s it gotta be so hot on Friday? Uuugh… I could be doing stuff, and instead I’m sweating myself to sleep. Mom, what’s the forecast saying? Are they gonna finally get their pegasi to stop all this?”
The mare faintly puffed her nostrils and shrugged. She shook her head, brows furrowed as well, after which she smiled and patted the filly on the shoulder. A few subtle motions of her other forehoof had the little unicorn sigh and smile weakly as well.
“Yeah… I guess we can. I wish the videodrome worked right when it’s so… dang… hot. Reading’s better than nothing, so… Let’s go, yeah.” The unicorn nodded to herself and led her mother to her room, stepping groggily and accidentally knocking the toy’s head against the furniture a few times.
They were in Dinky’s room for close to an hour, with the filly reading out loud from one of the many books her mother had bought in recent months. Eventually, while the story appealed to her, the filly was much too tired to continue without yawning every two or three sentences, and her eyes could barely stay open. Ditzy picked up the big book and sighed, looking at the cover for a few more seconds. The pegasus placed it on Dinky’s bookshelf, voicelessly chuckling to herself when she noticed the age rating on the fold again.
Once out of the filly’s room, she entered her own and came back out wearing a postal outfit. She visited the kitchen one last time, where she reacquainted herself with the letter, squinting to make out the details in the dim light.
Dear Ditzy,
I’m writing to give an update for your plans to visit Birchy in the hospital. Honestly, I’m still shocked that you’re willing to make the trip from so far away. You really are as reliable as they say. I wouldn’t want to ramble, though. You’re a very busy pony, so I figured you may want a reference list of all the details. The Wedding War has been over for a while, but security is still very tight.
Birchy’s at the clinic on 32 Sugar Trail. You’ll want the northeastern wing. I know you’re discrete, but you’ll want to be really quiet around this time. I don’t think you are going to want to deal with this security all out in the open like you usually do. We like you for it, but try to be more subtle this time. They have been very antsy as of late. And don’t surprise Birchy too much. Whatever shall we do if she were gone? Keep in mind - all you need to do is get to her.
Just to thank you further, here are some photos from our last visit. I’m sure you’re not going to have any trouble finding your way now.
Stay safe,
Redheart.
Her eye focused on the two attached photo-cards. One of them showed a sultry, dark brown, short-maned unicorn mare frowning and stretching a forehoof toward the camera, while the other showed a massive synaptic changeling with a large, jagged horn and a similarly short mane. Their image was taken from the back, but it caught them in the middle of turning around, the slit-like irises coming through sharp and peircing. One of the photos had “Birch Breaker” and a “Fl. 4” written under it, the other was titled “Phase” with a “R. 62”.
The mare grabbed the envelope and its contents, set fire to it and tossed it into a bin. After leaving the apartment complex, she flew out over the ocean for a moment to dump its contents onto the waves.
The pegasus landed on a patch of grass with a light thud and shook off the sweat covering her forehead. She looked back at the winding street, illuminated by the neon signs of the many shops and establishments, the dim streetlights struggling to keep up. A few steps further down, the patch of cut grass below the weakly lit windows of the clinic submerged her in darkness completely.
She stared at the tall walls of the medical building. Carefully, the mare walked around the corner, where the clinic faced a dark alleyway, and the only light was a fire someone lit inside a rusted metal drum. Broken and decaying belongings lay strewn about, some of them fresh, though the area appeared empty. Ditzy stopped in her tracks, inhaled deeply, reached into her bag, and quickly put the mask on. With a quiet flap of wings, she left the pavement and hovered above the homeless abode.
A pink sun, heart, moon and star symbol had been left on the wall directly opposite of the fire, the paint still fresh. The pigeon silently nodded. When there was no sign of the owner in the vicinity, she began the climb.
The pegasus moved quietly in the air, doing short, random bursts of wingflaps between floors to make the sound blend into the background noise of the city. Once she reached the fourth floor, her hooves latched onto the wall next to the window on the corner, and the pigeon peeked through the half-drawn shutters. The window was locked, and the room was occupied, so she moved on to the left.
Ditzy went past six more windows in this manner. Four of them were rooms filled with patients surrounded by IVs and other machinery, most of them unconscious from the medication being drip-fed into their blood, while others appeared to just be asleep. A wide window led to long corridor with cold colored lighting.
Two bulky, dark shapes stood in front of a stairway at the opposite end, leaning against the walls, their horns glowing faint green, wide sheets of paper and pens levitating in front of them. One of them hissed and slapped himself on the forehead, and a tense exchange of words followed, while the other shrugged and rubbed the back of their neck. The window was not shut, and the mare reached for it, only to pause at the last moment. Closing her eyes, she shook her head and moved on.
The next window was another wide one, the chamber beyond filled with sofas, tables, several drawers and multiple videodromes. Leaning close, but still obscured in the sahdows, the mare could make out three figures standing inside.
The changelings wore their natural form, their bulky, dark, jagged bodies adorned in plain black vests, ties and white shirts. Each of them was a synaptic, with their own facial structure, horn shape, size and mane style. One of them leaned against a counter, filling his glass with some drink, and turned around, glancing at the window Ditzy had been observing the room from. His slit irises dilated as he scanned the window. She quickly withdrew when she saw him raise a hoof in alarm.
While she waited for any possible commotion to die down, the mare inspected the roof, only to find all the doors tightly locked, and all the skylights blacked out. Moving on, her scouting concluded with the last three windows of the fourth floor. All were patient rooms, two of them locked, but the last one had its window open, and the lights were turned off. Ditzy blinked, staring at it for a while, seeking out the patient within.
She nearly leaped back from the window when she noticed that, in the crystal light of the medical equipment, a figure inside the room was staring right at her, looking into the good eye behind the pigeon's mask. Her wings flapped quickly to keep her in the air just outside the room.
“I…” came a rough, hoarse voice, belonging to an elderly stallion. It was interrupted by a fit of coughing for a few moments. “I know who you are.”
The mare just floated in place, blinking in confusion. The patient on the bed motioned weakly with a hoof. She closed her eyes tightly and carefully drifted in through the window. Another coughing fit erupted from the stallion, his breath wheezing and whistling. Upon getting closer, tubes became visible, emerging from most parts of his body. There was a heartbeat monitor close by, sounding off erratically.
“Knew… your lot would… finally…” The old stallion whined and groaned for a few seconds. “C-come.”
Large, hot red surgery scars could be seen on the parts of him not covered by the gown. The stallion lacked a hind leg, and there was a large mess of wires and tubes going into his chest, pumping luminescent liquids in and extracting body fluids out. He stared at her with a half-focused eye, a bandage covering the other one, as well as a good portion of his head.
“They… think…” The stallion struggled to speak while the mare slowly approached him. “They… gonna get hit. Not by you. Effing roaches...”
Ditzy stopped, looking over the mangled pony. The stallion managed a weak grin with one half of his mouth. Most of his teeth were either missing or artificial.
“They think... think it's suicide...” He gulped and went into a lengty coughing fit. After about half a minute, the heartbeat monitor started beeping sharply. He strained himself and leaned closer to her, weakly trying to mouth something. "The birds... the birds sent you here to..."
With her eyes adjusting to the dim haze of the room, the mare noticed that some of his tubes had been dislodged, and there was a trail of liquid leading from the bed to the window,a reddish stain on its handle.
“Fuck’em,” he gasped out. His eyes slipped closed, and he slumped back on the bed. "Fuck'em all up."
The mare nodded and headed for the door.
A dark equine figure closed in on room 84, its jagged, tall horn pulsing bright green. It signaled the two behind the corner to stay put, triggering a subtle spark in the magical aura. The changeling frowned, stopping a few steps before the room they noise came from. His head turned back and forth as the ones behind him sent out their own frustrated, persistent signals. Not wasting any more time, the changeling bent down, his black tie slipping out of the vest, and he sent a pulse of sickly green through the coldly lit hallway. The wave of magic echoed back to him, and his ear flicked in annoyance as he turned around, sending out a relief signal to the ambush party behind the corner.
The pair let the magic in their horns dissipate and they reached for the drinksl They took their first sips, only to pause when there was no sign of their third companion. They glanced at each other and exchanged faint mutters, lighting up their own horns and filling the air with the tingling smell of ozone. One of them cautiously rounded the corner, the other close behind. He paused at the corner, reached up to tap his horn, and shook his head while blinking his snake-like eyes. Small pulses of green magic started emanating from his appendage, at first only bouncing off the walls closest to him.
His head snapped around when his partner let out a gasp, his body tensing up, and he let out a sickening gurgle while his legs gave out. He slumped to the floor, a steady pool of green forming around the spot where a knife was embedded into his skull, even plunging through his jaw. His partner jumped back and let out a shrill cry, but he never got a word out before a mare in a mask and a postal outfit slammed her head right into his throat. The hardened carapace gave way to the force of the reckless lunge, and the changeling’s voice was reduced to desperate choking noises.
He tumbled to the floor, his horn reflexively sputtering arcs of green lightning until a forehoof came in against his snout, making a loud crack and snapping his head back, which sent the last bolt into the videodrome in the corner nearby. The old box crackled and sputtered as the circuitry and crystals inside vaporized.
Hoofsteps thundered down the hallway and several more vest-clad changelings rushed into the lounge in tight formation. The air was almost buzzing with frantically broadcasted synaptic waves. The group then split down the middle, making way for a large, bipedal figure in a black business suit, surrounded by four equine changelings. The leader cast a quick look at the three dead bodies, and the horns of the vanguard pulsed, sending waves of green energy throughout the medical wing. The curved horns of the biped sparkled iridescently as well, and it quickly gestured to its retinue, sending them off in multiple directions.
They left in pairs, one moving further down the hallway, the other in the opposite direction, checking the high security rooms one by one. Their leader stayed in the lounge, fixing the glasses on its snout, a bulky briefcase swinging idly in one of its hands. It gave a distorted hiss and took off the glasses, putting them on the counter next to the drinks and juices. Grumbling to itself in a warped feminine voice, the creature walked up to the window and spat out the open window in frustration.
There was a faint noise nearby. The minotaur changeling’s eyes widened, and it stepped tensely toward the window, its slender, yet muscular arms at the ready. Green magic sparked to life around the stubby horns on the top of its head, moments before a dash of grey flung itself at it, hind legs held forward for a strike. Within the split-second it had to react, the minotaur twisted around, avoiding the blow with a deft hop. They both skidded to a halt, and for a moment, the masked postal pegasus and the female minotaur stared each other down.
The bovine changeling stomped with its hoof and let out a telepathic call to the others, only to have its glasses crushed under a swift blow from the mare’s forehoof. The minotaur staggered back and quickly dodged the follow up strike, along with a bottle its opponent tossed from the counter. The unblinking eyes of the mask stared at the changeling, and she quickly smashed a bottle against the counter, keeping hold of its neck as she lunged at the minotaur. It swung the dense metal briefcase to intercept the pegasus, but right before the blow could have connected, the pony took to the air with a strong flap of her wings. She landed behind the minotaur and made a rapid series of stabs right into the back of the pretender.
The jagged edges of the glass penetrated the skin, but the changeling’s fidgeting from the pain kept making the stabs glance off. To its misfortune, the creature turned around too fast and caught the next blow in its abdomen. The mare lunged forward, driving the bottle even deeper, now digging into the minotaur’s intestines. Its disguise wavered and failed moments later, and it gurgled and coughed as its steaming insides poured out and liquefied on the floor. The briefcase fell next to the pile of gore, turning into a cloud of foul smoke with a faint hiss. Quiet as the confrontation was, it made plenty of noise in the previously calm wing, and soon enough waves of green energy pulsed through the walls. The mare quickly rushed for the window and leaped out, moments before a pillar of green flame consumed the spot where she had been standing.
A group of horned changelings rushed into the room. They formed a defensive line, eyes and horns doing overlapping scans in every direction. After almost a minute of no activity and no results from the scans, they collectively hissed and withdrew to a reinforced door at the far end of the hallway. The crystal lights along the ceiling flickered from the intensity of the synaptic thoughtwaves coursing between the procession. Their hoofsteps barely made any sounds, and the only noise to be heard during the trip was the erratic buzz of one of the defective lights. The guards formed up near the door with a faint glow, none of them looking very pleased.
Much more noise came very shortly, however - there was a sharp sound of shattering glass in one of the rooms to the side. The group stopped, letting out a few more seeker flashes across the walls and into the many rooms. They continued at a brisker pace as the wind grew hotter, many of the windows shattered by the attacker. More and more glass was shattered then, in random intervals, at random directions. It was more than shattering glass, however - the sound of heavy, clunking pawsteps against the stairway from the floor below drew closer to the corridor that the changelings had flooded into.
Two identical-looking tall, stocky, bulky griffons in fabric vests of a lighter shade than the other changelings’ prowled within sight, moving quadrupedally for speed’s sake. One of the two stared at the ones who fell, then at the defensive line by the door, and clawed at his magpie face in frustration. The one behind him examined one of the bodies, stood up, and wielded a still-steaming, green-covered knife in his talons. His free hand reached behind himself, but with the other, he made a motion with the knife against his throat, frowning at the remaining changelings. They moved more deftly when using their hind legs, striding closer to the commotions.
The objects that the two had taken were long, sleek industrial hammers. Differing slightly in appearance from one changeling to the other, they still appeared custom made, with a visible exhaust gauge on one of the hammer's sides.
One walked backwards, tilting his head to the broken windows and ready to swing at any sort of movement. His double reached the equine changelings, waded through them, and bashed the fortified door with a “62” on it with the butt of the hammer. The dull thud, and two more that came after, were silenced by the faint aura around the door. With a hiss, the griffon changeling stuck one of his hands into a security pod, and the door began to very slowly unlock. His pair departed back to the lounge, where a moderate crash was heard as one of the window frames was completely destroyed.
Inside the guarded room, the minotaur that sat in front of a sickbed looked at the griffon with a blank expression, and bent over a mangled, bandaged equine changeling on the bed.
“I’ll be right back, Phase. Fucking hell,” she said audibly, in a dual, distorted voice. That had been the first words spoken since the alarm was sounded. The large changeling covered in plaster and bandage, with wires going into the horn and chest, wheezed, spat and muttered something incoherent in response.
The minotaur changeling left the room and headed to another side of the hallway, having taken two of the equines with herself. The griffon remained in the fortified room, shutting the humming, sparkling metal door with a kick of his paw. He gave a swift pass over the vast, expensive medical chamber, covered with magical implements working overtime. The presence of magical interference from much of the equipment and the many odd shapes providing viable cover for an intruder caused him to let out a low, hoarse, echoing chirp. Several times, his eyes turned toward the window, surrounded by a persistent green glow. What it appeared to be on the outside, a plain brick wall, occasionally formed into being, signifying that the magic had not been tampered with.
The changeling on the bed let out a series of pained groans and swore weakly under her breath. The elite guard left in the room paid her attention every now and again, but mostly kept watch of the line of defense beyond the door, as well as any ambush spots in the room itself. The other griffon changeling’s shape was visible outside the window for a moment, the two duplicates looking at each other and nodding briefly after brief eye contact.
The moment that the other griffon disappeared back into the night air was when the glass, ooze, blood, water and juice-covered pegasus pounced out from the subtle gap between tankards filled with bubbling green liquid. She struck the hammerer changeling from behind, tilting herself in the leap so that the knife-adorned wing would leave his back mangled. The wing made contact, but skidded across with only vest and carapace-deep cuts left on the brutish changeling’s back. The hammer was swung back in her direction without delay, letting off a bout of thick, hot steam from the sides of its head. The mare leapt behind, the weapon barely keeping from destroying most of the medical equipment.
The changeling faced her, a heavy frown on his bland, clean shaven beak, and his body instinctively spread out its dark wings to prop up his posture. For a scant moment, the griffon’s eyes turned to the door, which barred entry or sigh to any of the changelings outside. He took a wing-propelled charge in the direction of the pony, but ended up meeting a fan of thrown knives directed right at his chest, throat, and head, failing to strike the masked mare.
The punctured, bleeding griffon was left mute in his last moments, but the drop and the whistle of the industrial hammer, as well as the strength with which he ended up ramming into a wall were noise enough to have spread outside.
“Mother… fucking…” the changeling swore through pained wheezing. Her one limb free of plaster, a foreleg, moved around weakly, missing the big green button on her side by a wide margin. “C-cocksuckers.”
The pony exhaled and lightly thrashed one of her wings, jingling the last remaining knife. The blinded changeling no longer even moved her foreleg, simply laying in place, growling to herself and swearing. Before the blade could be submerged into the synaptic, the mare’s eye was caught on something for a second.
There was a book left on top of the injured changeling’s blanket. While the cover was damages and tarnished, with various liquid stains, cuts, and other signs of age on top of it, it still kept the pony’s good eye on itself for some time. She blinked, having withdrawn it from the barely visible details and the “M+” on the fold. Just by the bed, a small folding chair blended in with the pale color of the floor, fallen over during the short fight. The changeling struggled to move again, but let out a high-pitched distorted yelp and then a guttural, vibrating growl as a sharp movement of her head caused the heat-resistant bandages over her eyes to be covered in green.
“Just…” the dark equine hissed forcefully. “Just… got to the… g-good fucking… part…” With visible effort, the changeling mare turned to face where the pony had last made a sound and forced her mouth into a chip-fanged grin.
A shout loud enough to be heard through the walls came from behind the fortified door. When Ditzy turned around, she saw a changeling in the shape of the lean bovine kick at the slowly opening door, blurring out of shape and into a dark, jagged figure with furiously flickering wings as it went. The mare’s wing was still in striking position, half a second away from gutting the half-dead creature on the bed.
The wing folded and the mare turned around to face the door, moments away from letting a horde in. With a powerful kick, she sent the life support apparatus fizzling and humming into disrepair, and then galloped to the window, lunging outside. Her eyes, both of them, closed for a long second as she heard a series of loud pops and an odd, ozonous smell of smoke.
Ditzy only returned to the ground after half an hour had passed without heavy wings sounding in the distance behind her.
“...thus far representatives Pride Mount Clinic have neglected to comment on the matter. With the establishment already publicly known to have been in poor standing with the populace of Carol City, the simultaneous accident and failure to prevent the passing of enterprise investor Corral Brand, our resident analysts are predicting the clinic’s closure within the next quarter. Further troubling are the unveiled likely connections between multiple casualties of the accident and Carol City's criminal world, regarding which…”
...
“...interspecies relations expert Gabriel Engels points towards the partial blame being on lack of safety precautions in changeling and Equestrian technology, further emphasizing the disinterest in proper research following multiple events during and after the Wedding War. However, according to the CCPD arson detective who wished to remain anonymous, the connection between the registered Prejudice Rock citizen Birch Breaker, a casualty in the accident, and…”
...
“...in the words of Corral Brand’s mourning wife: “We only wish we had done as he wanted. It seems foolish, looking back. His predisposition toward [the untested technology] is more than well-founded. Crystal or even magical means were always certain. This only bought him a few more weeks to suffer. He'd done so much for this community, he donated to so many social causes, many think that he's one of the few who kept Carol City from going down the route San Franciscolt once did, with its rampant lack of control over the changeling population. But now we've done this to him... I feel for the families of the ones lost in the big accident, but the blatant failure of my husband’s medical equipment is inconceivable. This would never have happened in an Equestrian clinic.”
Ditzy walked slowly up the path through the park, the sweat-drenched postal clothes, otherwise clean, still on her. Droplets of sweat laid a path behind her. She walked, barely looking in front of herself, and breathed heavily. Her ears drooped down from her head, which struggled to keep upright. The pebbles within her eyesight were starting to reflect light, the sun having begun to rise.
Not long after the road had almost become clear, even in spite of the tall trees at the mare’s side, it went dark again. She raised her head and saw the sun go behind a large patch of storm clouds in the sky. A moderate breeze blew against her snout. Far away, thunder erupted, and soon reached her ears as well. The pegasus sighed and upped the pace.
“Hey, watch where you’re going!” Ditzy was stopped to a halt by a warning yelp. She raised her eye from the road to in front of herself and saw a street sweeper mare she nearly collided with. The pegasus blinked, her bad eye falling half a second behind, and shook her head. “The hell were you doing trying to sneak up on me?” The cleaner unicorn scowled at her, taking careful steps back. “I look like a cheeseleg to you?”
The postal pony stared at the unicorn and gestured in front of herself with a hoof. The other mare blinked in return and tilted her purple snout.
“Uhuh. Um, right. Just… be on your way already. Hell, the one-eyed mute postmare gets an empty bag at four in the morning, and I get this entire fucking trail right before a rainstorm.” She spat on the ground, grumbling to herself. Ditzy had already walked past her, still peeking behind at the baggily-clothed mare. “Piece of shit.”
Thunder rang out again, and the cleaner looked at Ditzy once more. The pegasus was still having her head turned back, examining the other mare. The unicorn shivered and slowly walked backwards.
“Stop looking at me already, you loon! Fuck’s sake, I don't need this! What, you think it's funny, staring at me like that? Is it cause the papers say there's a gang of murder postponies wrecking town, huh, you think that's a prank?!" The sweeper grit her teeth, her eyes shrinking. "Well, I’m not a fucking cheeseleg, and you’re creeping me out, so... “ Incapable of keeping eye contact with the unblinking pegasus, the unicorn mare turned back and began to rapidly swipe the path. “I dunno, just get out.”
The pegasus took off on her own, walking towards home quickly now that the first drops of rain have begun to hit the ground.