Pinkie and the Spy

by Guesswork

Chapter 4: The Cat-Shaped Clock

Chapter 4

Maple's face betrayed only a brief flash of shock before her brow furrowed. She shook her head at him like a disappointed grandmother. "Agent, you lower your weapon right this instant. Just who do you think you are??"

"It's who you are that concerns me," said the Agent.

"Agent!" cried Pinkie. "What are you doing?"

"He's acting like a paranoid lunatic, is what," said Maple. "And I think I know why. How naive do you have to be, Agent, to bring your marefriend on an op? Didn't you already learn your lesson from Match? Anypony could have told you that you'd start seeing threats everywhere! When you first arrived, I was surprised to see you'd brought a plus-one, but I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. By Celestia, was I ever wrong."

"Liar," he said. "I think you slipped the blue mare assassin that cyanide capsule."

"I already told you, she isn't a mare at all!" said Maple. "She's a transmuted griffin. I just finished testing her blood."

"So did I," said the Agent. He reached into his vest-pocket and pulled out a vial of liquid. "I took a sample, back when you were in the kitchen constructing a convenient alibi. The reagent has been mixing with the blood for almost a half-hour now. What color is the blood in this tube, Maple?"

"You're making a career-ending mistake," she warned him. "Headquarters is going to put you out on your face."

He took an aggressive step towards the old mare. "I said what color is it??"

"Red," said Pinkie Pie from the doorway.

"You're damned right it is," he said. "That assassin is a pony, and you know what? I think she's one of ours. I think the only transmutation she was under was a color glamor to turn her blue and give her a cutie-mark. I think she was tricked into attacking Pinkie so that we'd come here!"

"Are you even listening to yourself?" said Maple. "Nobody knows about this place besides Canterlot Intel!"

"No more words," he said. "Turn around, sit on your haunches, and put your hooves on your head. You have five seconds to comply or the last thing you hear will be the twang of this bowstring."

Maple plopped down on her bony rear-end. With a mixture of sadness and disgust, she turned her back to the Agent. "You used to be one of the best operatives we had," she said, as she put her hooves behind her head. "Maybe we should have just let you rot in that prison."

"Shut up," said the Agent. "Pinkie Pie, there's a spare flex-cuff in my saddlebag. Restrain her hooves with it while I cover you. Be ready for anything." He glanced over to see the pink pony slumped against the bedroom doorjamb, her eyes suddenly glassy. "Pinkie!?"

"I don't..." said Pinkie Pie, "feel so good... all of a sudden..." She slid down the wall onto her haunches, breaking into a sweat. Her breath became labored, her face flushed, then she collapsed all the way to the floor.

"Pinkie!" exclaimed the Agent. The cake! he realized. The cake was poisoned!

He was distracted for only a half-second, but in that instant, Maple whipped around and a glint of metal left her hoof.

The Agent shoved the crossbow sideways and three shurikens thudded into the hardwood stock. He brought the weapon back around, but Maple was already leaping for him. She moved like lightning-- much too fast for an old mare. The Agent pulled the trigger when she was less than two meters away. In his adrenalin-soaked combat-trance, he watched the quarrel leave the bow in slow motion, just as a flaring ring of magic swept up around Maple's body, reverting her back into her true form.

She was a changeling, of course.

The quarrel shot harmlessly through one of the holes in her chitinous leg, and then she was tackling the Agent up against the wall, her insect-wings buzzing powerfully. The two combatants locked into a grapple over control of the crossbow.

The Agent let some slack into his grip, giving his opponent the impression that she was about to win the tug-o-war. Just as the changeling was hauling back on the weapon with all of her strength, he suddenly swung the stock around and bashed her right in the face with it.

The changeling tumbled backwards, green slime oozing from her cracked facial-chitin. She rolled on the all-weather carpet, back up to her feet, letting out an alien screech.

The Agent racked the pump-action again, but before he could loose the second quarrel, the changeling's mouth-parts spread wide and a spray of orange liquid exploded outwards in a cone. The Agent tried to dive out of the way, but he was a second too late. The mist was sticky, burning his eyes like acid, clogging his throat, choking him. He landed stumbling, off-balance, blind. There was the vibrating buzz of insect wings, a rush of air. Then a claw smashed him in the face, knocking off his owl-spectacles. Another yanked the crossbow out of his hooves. A foot kicked him in the stomach and the Agent crashed down onto his side.

This wasn't just some ordinary changeling. She was warrior caste. She was like him.

"Click-click-chitter-click-chick!" said the changeling, and he heard her claws tighten around the trigger.

"Don't monologue at me," said the Agent. "It's unprofessional." He gritted his teeth and braced himself for the shot.

* * *

Pinkie's world swam with colors, and not in a good way. "I don't..." she said, "feel so good... all of a sudden..." She slid down the doorjamb as freezing chills wracked through her body, and her vision went double, triple, narrowed to a tunnel.

"Pinkie!" she heard the Agent yell, then the rushes, thumps, and crashes of combat.

I'm just a baker, she thought as the light slipped away from her eyes. I just make pastries.

She heard a hiss like a liquid-spray and the Agent cried out in pain. Then a long scuffle, and at last, the unmistakable chittering of a changeling. Everything seemed far away, like it was happening to some other pony. But there was one last thread of consciousness that was still Pinkie Pie, and this thread realized instinctively that her stallion was losing the fight. She knew that if she didn't do something quickly, he was dead, and so was she. Her friends back in Ponyville would probably never even know what had happened to her.

I can't do that to them, thought Pinkie. Even though she was delirious, even though her head felt like it weighed a million tons, she forced her eyes to open. I can't do that to my friends!

* * *

The changeling's mouthparts turned up in an alien smile as she watched the blinded Agent grit his teeth, preparing for death. Overall, this had been too easy. The informant had been correct; the Agent and his airhead squeeze-toy had shown up right on time, trusting "Maple" implicitly. They'd been duped by their own faith in their silly Canterlot Intelligence service.

And now, thought the changeling, It's time for a little payback for the Wedding Invasion.

"I've got a message from Queen Chrysalis," said the changeling in the efficient, clicking language of her race. "'This is just a sign of things to come.'"

"Don't monologue at me," said the Agent. "It's unprofessional."

"Suit yourself," replied the changeling. "The message will be even more meaningful after I write it on your corpse." Her claws tightened on the trigger.

"Hey," said a weak, wheezing voice off to the side. "You know what time it is?"

The changeling looked over to see Pinkie Pie laying on the ground, having dragged herself out of the doorway by her forehooves. Next to Pinkie was a massive, iron cannon, the yawning mouth of the device aimed squarely at the changeling's chest.

"Party time," whispered Pinkie.

* * *

The Agent heard a thunderous explosion, followed by a wet crack-splat on the opposite wall. Then silence.

"Pinkie?" he called out. "Pinkie, I'm blind. Where are you?"

"Agent..." she said, then her head hit the floor with a thud.

He crawled over to her, putting his hooves on her to check her for injuries. She was clammy and drenched in sweat, shivering, hyperventilating with short, shallow breaths.

What a fool I am, he thought. For so many reasons...

He grabbed the doorjamb and pulled himself up to his hooves. The acid from the changeling's mouth was releasing caustic fumes all up the front of his chest and face. He stumbled into the bedroom and vomited on the floor, wiped the back of his mouth and kept going.

Where are you? he thought. Come on... come on... there! His saddlebag. He thrust a hoof into the satchel and felt around for the tiny object in the bottom pouch. After a terrifying couple of seconds, during which he wondered if he'd somehow lost it or forgotten to pack it, his hoof struck the object and he yanked it out of the bag triumphantly. It was a mini aerosol can.

He sprayed the liquid all up and down his front. Almost immediately, the changeling's acid dissolved and fumes cleared away. He could breathe again. He grabbed the bedsheet to wipe his face, and forced his stinging eyes back open. Thank grace I can still see... he thought. Pony-eyes were particularly vulnerable to attack, due to their size.

He rushed back to Pinkie's side. She was barely conscious.

"Hold on, Pinkie, stay awake!"

In his saddlebag, he found a bottle of activated charcoal and sorbitol solution. The Agent propped Pinkie up against the doorjamb, where she groaned in pain and tossed her head, almost falling over again.

"Pinkie, drink this," he said holding her clammy, shivering body against him. Please... please... "Come on, open your mouth."

She took a weak sip, made a face and coughed, spilling the black liquid out onto the floor.

"You've been poisoned, Pinkie," said the Agent. "Drink this or you're going to die."

A tear ran down her cheek, but she drank the foul, gritty antidote without another complaint. As last, the bottle was empty.

"Now... what..." she asked from the edge of consciousness. Her stomach grumbled loudly and she winced. "Unhhhh..."

"Now I'm going to take you over to the sink and we'll let nature do the rest."

* * *

An hour later, Pinkie Pie lay on her side on the kitchen floor. She had a bucket next to her, but the Agent had emptied it fifteen minutes prior, and she hadn't needed it since then.

"Agent," she said, her weak voice barely above a whisper.

She heard water running in the sink and turned to look. For a moment, her head exploded with pain, and she squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. The Agent was running his hooves under the water, washing off copious amount of blood. Red blood.

"Agent," she repeated.

"I'm right here, Pinkie," he said, shutting off the water and coming over to sit beside her. He set his crossbow down on the floor, drying his hooves with a towel. "How are you feeling?"

She let out a small burp. "No... more... carrot cake."

"You might not be able to look at another piece of carrot cake for the rest of your life. Happened to me with some poisoned hay-fries on an op a while back." He slipped a black, velcro cuff around her foreleg and repeatedly compressed the attached bulb, checking the clock on the wall to keep time.

The clock was shaped like a cat, with its tail for the pendulum.

"I like that clock," whispered Pinkie.

"It's yours, when this is all over," he said.

"Hoo-ra-a-ay," she cheered weakly.

After another moment, the Agent said: "Well, your blood-pressure is almost back to normal, but your body's been through Tartarus and back. You need sleep and we can't stay here."

"That changeling we fought... she seemed different."

"That's because you've only faced the worker drones before," said the Agent. "She was the result of Chrysalis's new pet project: the warrior caste. Much deadlier breed."

"I killed her," said Pinkie. Her eyes filled with tears and her voice took on a note of hysteria. "I killed her!"

"Shhh," he said, cradling her. He held her for a long time.

At last he said, "We have to get moving, Pinkie. We've already been here too long."

"Okay," she sniffed and tried to sit up.

He helped her climb onto his back and they left the kitchen, heading for the front door. Pinkie glanced over at the wall where the changeling had struck after the party cannon had gone off. The eggshell-white surface was splattered with a shocking amount of green goop, confetti, and streamers. Below the splat-mark was a bed-sheet laid over a crumple shape. The bed-sheet was also soaked through with green. The longer she looked, the more horrific detail she noticed.

"Don't," said the Agent. "You can't unsee things like that."

Pinkie squeezed her eyes shut and didn't argue.

----------------------------------------------
Picture Credit:

http://fc02.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2012/224/4/0/pinkamena_wallpaper_by_tzolkine-d5au1iu.png
http://www.thatguycharlie.com/uploads/green_splatter4rce.jpg

Comments

[djthomp]

Ahh, I was wondering when the opening bit with the changelings would come into play.

[Snowstreak]

All of my yes.

[stillstartrekn]

that was an bad use of the party cannon
awesome story:)

[aaaa_aaaa]

1336093

Cyanide treatments seem to be relatively harmless - glucose, oxygen, sodium thiosulfate, vitamin B12(a).

[notMurphy]

Party Cannon FTW

1336104 ok, I guess that one doesn't look so bad. Still, industrial liquid waste... eww

[LittleSallyDigby]

Wait, what? You're telling me the changelings have a warrior caste that they didn't use when mounting a full-scale invasion of an enemy capital? Really?

I mean, I can buy that they have a caste that's better suited for this situation than for open combat, but I can't see them being considered the warriors. "Infiltrator" would fit such a group much better, in my opinion- they'd be intended for surprise attacks at an enemy's weak point, rather than a soldier's style of fighting.

[Guesswork]

1339416 The warriors were created as a response to the failure of the Wedding Invasion.

[Sparx EmberFlame]

Okay...As I'm writing this I'm about 15 seconds into the chapter...You poisoned Pinkie Pie...You poisoned...Pinkie. Pie. Just...How stupid ARE you? See the picture in the beggining? That's what'll happen now. You brought this upon yourself and your employers. You had your chance.

Edit: I. Told. You.