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Are-We-Gonna-Get-On-With-The-Story-Bug

"Milord, a pleasure to see you always!"

"Stuff it and tell me the sitrep."

Buzzing of wings. Wind nipping at the ears. Bright lights behind closed lids. Yes, Pharynx realized, he was in Cloudsdale. Surrounded by his patrol. Time to open his eyes, he guessed.

Not surrounded. Just him and the point ling.

A cyan-colored changeling flapped his wings as Pharynx's newly acquired war beast slowed its flapping to a casual speed. Nodding towards his superior, the patrol-ling matched speed and began pacing his legs into the air as if he was walking on ground. "Nothing unusual. Per usual. The usuality of usuals, sire. Perhaps it'd be uncanny to be unusual, but nonetheless this area remains the same as it always has been. Usual. Business as usual. The regality of uncompromised normalcy, your lordship. Maybe-"

"Shut up."

"Yes, sire."

Pharynx looked off towards the floating city, curling his lip in disgust. "What of Diaphragm?"

The cyan changeling's brow perked. "Diaphragm? She's being an overseer to the op you had us assigned to, sire. Nothing out of the usual there. Solidly the same. Mutually exclusive to the metronomes of monotony, your Royal Highness. A teeter maybe to the sights of broken rhythm, but typically the rhythm remains upbeat and the exact same as always as it will be and forever to the end of times, your Excellenc-"

"Runoff, shut up."

Runoff flinched just a tiny bit. "Yes, milord."

The Cloudsdale patrol squadron he had assigned routinely was still doing their usua- Chrysalis be damned, Runoff is rubbing off on hi- He's doing it AGAIN!

Shaking his head with his newly acquired bad mood, Pharynx tugged Trachea towards the small tower located on the northeastern corner of Cloudsdale. It was a small cobblestone spire, fit with windows and an oak door at the cloudy floor. It was barely stretching to anything impressive in height, but it carried the absurdly colorful flags of Thorax's king- Hive. The Hive. The flags were posted in wooden posts jammed into the spire's structure. Defensibly negligible.

"Roam around. Don't cause trouble," Pharynx grumbled to his mount as he hopped off and buzzed his wings lazily towards the spire. What was with it and the veteran squadrons lacking any brain cells after their transformation? If he wasn't a staunch believer of the old ways, he'd bargain the loss of intelligence with "upgrading" wasn't even worth the trouble. They recited the Defense Codex and Imperial Garrison Codex in their hatchling schools down to fanatical memorization, and now they couldn't even remember the first sentence it seemed.

In what world did the Defense Codex say 'putting a teddy bear next to the door is a good dissuasion to the true strength your squadron has' and when was it implemented?!

Landing, he suppressed a groan when he heard laughing inside. Kicking the teddy bear off the cloud, he magicked the door open and stepped inside. Laughter stopped. Bodies scrambled. A yelp was heard, but died immediately when the yelper in question scrambled with a hobbled leg to stand at attention.

"Milord!" The group of seven rang out simultaneously, with their variated carapace colors.

"Cell Five. At ease."

The filed seven relaxed their postures.

Silence.

An uncomfortable silence.

They stared.

He stared back, but in a more intimidating manner.

Pharynx regarded them like a venomous snake ready to strike, but in a different way. More like, the venomous snake was a toothless puppy and it wanted him to pet it. It wasn't something he was entirely enthusiastic about, but he supposed his units were due for some festivities when nothing has been going on for the last year. Doesn't mean he had to walk in on them enjoying themselves. That, is something they'll have to learn for a third time to not do.

"Your motion-activated traps did not go off, Cell Leader Tibula. In fact, I didn't hear even a vibration call for alarm of an unidentified presence," Pharynx stalked closer and closer to the indigo 'ling in question. "I don't wanna to make the judgment that you are disregardin' security protocol, but it seems that you're makin' the call that this outpost does not need the security protocol. Don't that sound like negligence?"

As he spoke, the other six seemed to forego their formation to back away from the oncoming Pharynx, leaving their superior Tibula, whose neck couldn't go backwards any farther, out to dry. Tibula winced as he slowly raised a hoof in a disarming gesture to his Prince. "Milord.. don't you think it's.. uncalled for to do all of that?"

"Explain." Pharynx's tone left no room for Runoff-esque shenanigans.

"War is practically extinct, sire. We are stationed in Equestria, which has lacked a conflict with other nations in.." Tibula gulped, ears pinning to his head as he realized his folly. But, he was a Cell Leader for a reason! He did not cave to the sudden pressure of a verbal miscue; rather, he was promoted here by Pharynx's own confidence in him! Steadying his back, he cleared his throat noisily, having just noticed the furrowed brow and very unpleased frown dig itself into Pharynx's muzzle.

"The country we are posted in has not seen conflict since The Queen, sire. Yet, I make the argument that the last present conflict nationally was more than a millennium ago, milord. Beyond our lifespan, by at least twenty generations. That's a lot of generations sire, and each generation is only getting more and more peaceful." Tibula exhaled, his ears still pinned.

Pharynx sneered, a single fang shining in the light of the room before he shook his head. Have they all lost themselves to this spectrum of color and cushion? Even his personally selected soldiers were worthless in the threat of an enemy. Breathing, he steadied himself for a debating tone more composed than his Equestrian embassy persona.

"More soft as well," Pharynx countered. "I don't see a point in softenin' our selves when we were bred to be the hammer of which the Queen commands- the King commands his drones to stand firm as the anvil. We are White Cells, Cell Leader Tibula. We aren't the Red Cells." The team seemed to perk up, their eyes uneasily looking at each other before locking back on Pharynx with a budding of confidence. Pharynx continued, "We are the hammer. We are not the defenseless anvil waitin' for its hammer to strike and relieve it. You are my finest." The group's backs straightened, their unsure gazes becoming solid with resolute faces and slowly-developing stoic looks. "White Cells seek and destroy the threat so the Red Cells may continue to supply and thrive, capisce? You don't have the privilege of being peace-lovin' like the Reds. You are my countermeasure to when the peace, and by extension the Reds fail. Understood?"

"Yes, sire!" They were standing shoulder-to-shoulder without fault, now. They looked like proper Changelings of the olden days. Yet, it did not impress the Prince. To him, it was to be the norm.

..But 'positive reinforcement' was a valuable tactic that Thorax helped him realize. "A little more authority to that and you might just be your old selves, yet. Clean the perimeter of the cutesy garbage and make this place look a little more official. That's a direct order."

"Yes, sire!"

"Clean the soda off your chin, Beetle. It's pathetic."

"Sire!" The 'ling in question practically slapped the soda foam off of their chin, staring forward all the while.

Pharynx nodded, overlooking the line of drones. "We are the hammer. Don't lose your weight in that strike when it is needed most."

"Sire!" Their necks arched forward, left forehoof stomping in unison- almost flashing Pharynx back to the times when he held a similarly sized Cell in his command, preparing for the invasion. A peaceful calm overcame him in that moment as he felt himself feel more at-home, an unconscious smile adorning himself to the changelings. They faltered in their stoic gazes, only when Pharynx turned around to look over to one of the tables holding a stack of parchment paper.

"Cell Leader Tibula, while your drones see to the armaments, show me the newest news of our neighborly- RUNOFF!"

Author's Note:

TANGY 🍊

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