Empty Shell

by Azure-Spark

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Several years ago, the Westfront Resistance Mesa base was casually and technically decommissioned along with the rest of the army calling themselves ‘The Resistance’. While this might imply that it’d now remain antiquated and abandoned to simmer and melt in the heat of the salt flats, it still stands alive and well, just now for a new cause and purpose. Again, this is just like the army occupying its walls.

The base now serves as a coordinating station for the patrols and standing teams that sweep this part of the wasteland routinely. To those outside of the now-called ‘Equestrian Guard’, many see this as either paranoid or futile. Their efforts in the past to fight the threats of the Black Lands were pathetic at best, and the change of scenery to that which no pony in their right mind would want to live in doesn’t bode well for the sanity of the Guard’s commanders. Those outside of the Equestrian Guard are also, sadly, largely uninformed of the ponies’ otherworldly foes.

Put simply, they have no idea what they’re talking about.

Still, many a member of the Guard grows to question why they spend so much time on this one border, especially one that acts as a natural barrier anyway. It would be a lie to say the thought hadn’t crossed the minds of Cross Talk and Scootaloo, but, like the rest of the unit stationed there, the two at least knew better than to speak out to their superiors about it.

The Westfront base itself took up the majority of a hollowed-out mesa with its network of hallways and tech. One of its most defining features was the behemoth double-sided hangar carving a hole straight through the entire rock structure. It had enough room to allow eight to ten sand-skimmers side-by-side, with regulation six foot two-side clearance, through either entrance. That wasn’t even counting the excess room inside for storage and maintenance of the vehicles. The hangar was not without its flaws, however. Even with the gates technically closed, there was no claiming this base was camouflaged in the slightest, from any distance. At least this was justified; they originally identified the mesa as a good construction location by the fact that it had survived a stray meteor impact from the first storm.

That meteor had sailed clean through the mesa and landed on the far side, toppling another mesa in the cluster. Since then, ponies had cleaned up the wreckage, but signs of the crater and debris remained a driving hazard to this day, at least for those on fast-moving sand-skimmers.

Scootaloo loved to push the limit, even just a little here and there.

As their skimmer careened through the fallen boulders and dust shrubs, Cross Talk held onto the back rails for dear life. It was almost as if she was trying to get them killed; every time something remotely ramp-shaped cropped up in their way, Scootaloo would make a beeline for it. This next one actually looked somehow steeper than all the rest combined.

“Whee!” Ghost yelled, holding her forehooves over her head and giggling as they broke the maximum hover-distance and entered the jump.

Cross reflexively held a hoof out to press her back into her seat. He found himself to be pressed back tightly anyway, between the forces and his own outright terror. Even once they landed with a clunky lurch, he stayed glued to the floor of the hoverboat.

“Scoot!” he cried out with a cracking voice. “Take it easy, will ya?”

“What’s that?” Scootaloo mocked over the wind whipping by, never once taking her eyes off the rocks ahead. “I can’t hear you over all this fun I’m havin’!”

“We have another passenger, remember?” Cross yelled again. Since they weren’t busy flying anymore and he could actually stand up, he gave Ghost a quick nudge with a free hoof.

Ghost tilted her head at him. “Who, me? But I’m not passenging. Or passenging anything. Or whatever that means.”

Cross groaned and shook his head. Rather than keep trying with her, he just tried to find something solid in the distance to look at before he got sick. In this case, that something was the open hangar dawning before them. Little dots of chrome, sparkling in the sunshine, whizzed in and out of the opening, all of them going straight up or down the rock face.

“Uhh, Scoot?” Cross asked. “Mind taking it easy on the vertical trip at least? I’d rather Ghost’s first trip with us to not end ironically.”

“You’re not using that word right,” said Scootaloo with a smug smirk.

Cross threw his hooves in the air. “Well I’m sorry I’m not so much a perfect dictionary when I’m flippin’ motion-sick!”

“Contrary to popular belief, you aren’t so perfect when you’re feeling fine, either.”

As they neared the mesa’s base, another skimmer passed by on their side, going about half as fast. Scootaloo finally did slow down a hair now, if only from swerving to steer clear of the oncoming skimmers. Ghost had turned around to watch them pass; despite being jostled around a bit by fish-tailing, she kept her balance. She didn’t even seem bothered by the shaking, only rather intrigued.

“Oooh, who are they?” she asked. “More Surface ponies?”

“Friends of ours, don’t worry,” said Cross. He then turned and glared at Scootaloo. “Scoot, just drive slower up ahead. Ease up, then bite me.”

With a groan, Scootaloo leaned back, slowing the skimmer by about a third of its speed over a second or two. “Oh, fine. Just make sure you’re both secure back there, a’right? Pain in my right hoof...”

Once the skimmer neared the mesa’s bottom, it started to tilt up to match the rapidly-steepening slope. Scootaloo tapped a corner of the control pad, then a set of three long, mostly-flat panels unfurled from the back of the skimmer. Each one snapped to a ninety-degree angle from the base. Cross quickly climbed onto the nearest one, and Ghost did the same from the far side.

“I always hate this part,” Cross grumbled, lowering himself down closer to the panel and clenching his eyes shut.

Mere moments later, they entered the vertical climb. The skimmer’s thrusters audibly switched up their modes, becoming far louder than they had been so far. Scootaloo’s controls swung out and angled slightly, giving her a bit of space to stand while the rest of the vessel kept nearly vertically upward. Nearly was the key word; there was enough of an angle to create a pocket between the floor and the panels that Ghost and Cross stood on, yet still little enough of one that Scootaloo almost reflexively opened her wings. Only Ghost seemed to be able to enjoy the ride, no matter how relatively slow they went.

“Oh, wow, look at that!” said Ghost, pointing back down at the ground. “We’re so high up now! It’s like I’m heading home already!”

She peered further and further over the edge, drawing Cross’ attention by the metal groans coming from the panel beneath her. He just bit his lip and held his tongue; she still seemed fairly balanced. At least the panels were a bit curved to help with just this occasion.

Nopony told Ghost that they were not, however, built to act as springboards during a climb.

“It’s like they’re shiny little ants down there... Hi ants!” Ghost waved her hoof as she bounced. “Can you see me, too?”

Cross fought through the forces pressing down on him and stood up, if only to plant a hoof on Ghost’s back. He looked firmly into her surprised eyes and simply said, “Ghost. Stop.”

After a moment of silence, he took his hoof off. Ghost just smiled at him. “Okie-doke!”

“Yo,” Scootaloo called back. “Hitting the hangar in ten seconds!”

“That means brace yourself,” said Cross, dropping back down to his side of the panels. After a moment, it occurred to him that Ghost was still standing. He groaned, his horn aglow, and tried to shove her down manually.

The glow of his magic simply passed through her and fizzled out.

Ghost giggled as the sparkles from the effort showered over her. “Hey! That tickles!”

“Ghost, please lay down,” Cross tried again. “We’re gonna snap back to flat in like half a second, and I don’t want you flung out like a catapult.”

“Really? Wh—”

“That hurts, Ghost. A lot.”

Just in time for that turn into the hangar, Ghost dropped down to the panel. As the skimmer made its dramatic swing, the two in back were knocked about a bit; it was barely more of a tossing-around than when they landed from one of Scootaloo’s jumps. A moment later, the panels flipped back down, and Cross Talk stood up and stretched his legs while Scootaloo carefully navigated the skimmer between the ponies about the hangar.

Ghost was speechless as she looked around. The walls, floor, ceiling... all looked the same chrome as the skimmer, with patches of black like the control panels here and there. There were easily a hundred other ponies there, each running about or tending to some skimmer or another parked along the outer edges. Flickering artificial light filled where the sunlight wouldn’t reach, reflecting in hazy blotches on the walls and floor. Some ponies shuffled various beeping and glowing instruments between each other, while others seemed content to just watch.

While Ghost was busy sight-seeing, Scootaloo found their spot along the right-side strip. She backed the skimmer into a black patch, then finally tapped the control panel to set it down on the ground.

Then when she turned around to check on the passengers again, she was face to face with the sight of Cross Talk futilely trying to grab Ghost’s hooves in magic. Each time ended up the same; fizzle and sparkles floating around the white hoof. Scootaloo just could not stop smiling.

“Hey,” she whispered to him as she passed. “Having trouble?”

“I swear, it’s her,” he grumbled. “There’s something about her that makes her imm—”

“Yeah, uhuh. Sure.” Scootaloo gave Cross’ horn a hard flick. “I’m sure she’s the problem.”

Cross blushed and smacked her hoof away; this only made her smile wider. He growled and yelled, “Do you ever get off my back?!”

Ghost just stared at them. “Are you two okay?”

“Yeah, we’re fine,” the two said in unison. In their mutual surprise, they just stared back at each other.

“That didn’t just happen,” said Scootaloo.

Cross shrugged. “Whatever you say. Where were we again?”

“You’re horrible at magic?” Scootaloo offered with another smirk.

“Oh, like you’re the best at flying or something.”

Scootaloo scowled and put a hoof on his chest. “I was trained by the best, alright?”

Again, Cross swatted her hoof away. “Who, the Captain?”

“Well... no, but close enough!”

A quick rapping on the hull of their skimmer caught both ponies’ attention. Some colt was standing there, looking fairly young and innocent, if a bit nervous in-uniform. “Uhh, e-excuse me?” he asked feebly. “Mind if I help you two unload? Th-the skimmer, I mean.”

Cross barely glanced at him. “Yeah, go ahead, kid.” The colt nodded back and went around to the back of their vehicle.

Scootaloo sighed and leaned back into a slouch. “Sure is about time somepony gave us a break around here.”

“Like you’d know anything about that,” Cross snapped.

“Oh, come on! Fine, ‘I’m sorry’,” Scootaloo said with a roll of her eyes. “Geez, Cross, you can be such a big baby sometimes.”

“I just want some respect!” Cross yelled, taking a step towards Scootaloo. He paused, slowly reversed the motion, then reached a hoof onto his back and tapped around; his weapon was still there. “Ugh, hang on,” he said, hopping down and trotting around to the back where the colt was.

When he took the weapon off and presented it for the colt in his magical grip, the colt took one look and jumped. “Ga-ah!” the colt yelped.

Cross looked at him sideways and chuckled. “Dude, relax. It’s off. You know, standard poli—”

The two froze, staring into each others’ eyes. Slowly, Cross’ began to widen. “Name and call number,” Cross mumbled.

“Um... wha—”

Cross stepped back, flicking a switch to turn the weapon on. “Name and call number. I’m Cross Talk, U-one-five-nine. You?”

The colt quickly looked side-to-side. “Oh, umm, well, I-I’m new here, I haven’t got one y—”

Immediately, Cross lunged forward after the colt, grabbing him around the neck and wrestling him to the ground. The few ponies nearby stopped what they were doing and craned their necks to get a better look; this included Ghost and Scootaloo, still on the skimmer.

“Scoot!” Cross barked as his weapon primed. “Hold ‘im!”

Scootaloo saluted and jumped down, swapping out for Cross in the pin. Even during the brief window he had, that colt tried to bolt for it, though to no avail. Cross took a few more steps back, leveling the weapon at the colt as Scootaloo lifted the poor pony up.

“Clear!” Cross shouted.

A sickly green bolt fired from the weapon, jagged almost like a lightning bolt. On impact with the colt, however, it all collected in an aura around him. He crackled with the energy from the shot, until patches of it started to gather. The patches grew outward, opening up their centers and revealing something quite unlike a simple pony.

When the energy finally fizzled out, Scootaloo was left holding a struggling changeling. And that struggling turned violent as the big bug frantically bit at Scootaloo’s hoof.

“Ouch!” Scootaloo yelped. The bug got her, first with a bite and then a kick, and took off towards the nearest hangar exit. Scootaloo herself dropped down to the floor. Not because she was that badly hurt, but because she knew what was going to happen next.

Cross jumped up on their skimmer, then cupped his forehooves around his mouth and yelled, “Breach!!”

In seconds, the air was filled with red magical bolts, sailing off in a swarm towards the changeling. Despite all the shots, the bug miraculously kept swerving around and dodging, each bolt missing it by mere inches. The occasional shot singed by its back, causing it to dip in the air, but after each one it quickly caught back up with its own wingbeats.

A few of the shots were fired from near Scootaloo’s skimmer, barely grazing over Cross’s head. He ducked down, then gasped. “Ghost, get down!” he shouted.

“Huh?” Ghost just tilted her head again. Cross barely tackled her to the skimmer deck in time to get her out of the way of a stray shot.

After a few moments of wild firing from the hangar personnel, a loud, booming stallion’s voice echoed over the shots: “Hold your fire!!”

The shots immediately halted. The changeling, only about two-thirds of the way to the exit, nervously turned about to look over its foes. Most of the troopers still had weapons raised, but a few started to put them down. One of the ponies stood out far and above the rest; the stallion barking orders who stood at the now-open entrance to a stairwell. He was easily the strongest pony there. Yet despite his menacing glare, he was unarmed.

Somehow, the changeling got to turn and flee in relative safety. Its wings beat tirelessly as it flew outside. It somehow looked... relieved.

“Now open fire,” the stallion ordered.

The few troopers still aimed didn’t hesitate to launch more bolts at the bug, but the others didn’t even bother. By the time the bolts even got there, the changeling had flown down and away out of sight.

Slowly, Cross and Ghost and Scootaloo each stood to their hooves.

“What was that?” asked Ghost.

“Changeling,” said Cross. “Big bugs that disguise as ponies and feed on emotive energy. Not friendly whatsoever. Not to mention they don’t look too friendly to begin with, outside their disguises.”

Scootaloo trotted around to the side of the skimmer and looked the two over. “Is everypony okay? Nopony’s hurt?”

Ghost smiled and waved a hoof around in front of her face. “I think I’m okay. I’d know if I was hurt, right?”

“From one of those bolts? Definitely,” said Cross. “I remember one time when I was—”

“Corporals!” barked the large stallion. He had trotted straight up to their skimmer; both Scootaloo and Cross instantly saluted him. Even Ghost tried to copy them, but Cross quickly put her hoof down for her.

“Yes, Sergeant Marble, sir!” Cross and Scootaloo recited in unison.

The Sergeant pointed a hoof at Cross. “You! Cross Talk, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good call today,” said the Sergeant, albeit at a non-shouting tone for once. “Those buggers are getting feisty lately. Glad to know we can catch ‘em if we need to.”

Cross Talk stood up proudly and with a smug smile. “Just doing my job, sir.”

“I helped,” Scootaloo grumbled.

Sergeant Marble nodded. “I’m assuming you’re back from your recon work then? Looks like you’re gonna have some report to give after that and this.” On ‘this’, he pointed to Ghost. “Cross, I’ll be frank with you,” Marble continued. “... really? After all those other times, really?”

Scootaloo snickered behind a hoof as Cross flushed bright red. “Sir, if I may, this one’s different! Caught her falling out of that Chaos Isles bubble thing. Nearly wiped us out on impact with some sort of detonation that softened her fall... somehow.”

The Sergeant just stared at Cross for a moment. “Alright, come with me,” he finally said, heading back to the stairs. “And bring her with ya.”

Cross and Scootaloo exchanged a look, then followed Marble. Ghost hopped shortly after them. “Uhh, sir?” asked Scootaloo.

“You got a briefing for the Captain, right?” he asked as they walked. “I just wanna hear this for myself. Sounds like the long version o’ that’ll be a doozy.”

“Fair enough,” said Cross. “Come on, Ghost.”

The group stopped at the door to the stairs. Marble quickly whipped around, stern expression back on his face, and started to yell, “And the rest of you! I wanna see these stations triple-checked for any tampering! Now! Who knows how long that bug was in our base?!”

Scootaloo just barely squeezed by the big stallion to get to the door, then opened it and waved for the others to follow while the Sergeant kept shouting.

Ghost went first, followed closely by Cross. She couldn’t stop glaring at Sergeant Marble with every word he spoke. “What’s his problem?” she asked. “Why’s he all shout-y?”

“It’s his job,” Scootaloo explained.

The Sergeant stomped his hoof on the hard metal, then turned and stepped into the doorframe. But before he left, he turned to add one last remark. “And for Celestia’s sake,” he said, motioning at the door, whose knob had been roughly scorched, “learn to aim!”

— — — — — —

Twenty two and a half minutes later, according to the clocks on the wall, the group found themselves in the Captain’s office towards the top part of the mesa-base. It was fairly similar to the rest of the base in style: lights and chrome with a little black matte here and there. There was a table over to the side with a hologram projector above, currently showing a rough diagram of the base’s infrastructure. At the far end from the door was a desk surrounded by windows to the outside, some currently doubling as monitors linked to the base’s security system. One in particular was stopped on a still frame of Cross zapping the changeling.

Everypony in the group saluted as the captain stood and stepped out from behind her desk.

“We have our report, Captain!” said Scootaloo. “Ma’am, we found somepony you might be interested in hearing about.”

“First,” said the Captain, “at ease, Scootaloo. I’ve had a long day, and the last thing I need is somepony overdoing it.”

“Yes, Ma’am— er, Captain Spitfire, Ma’am,” said Scootaloo, offering an apologetic smile.

“Second,” Spitfire snapped, “Cross Talk: good call. I’ve been watching the recording on loop.” She smirked, nodding at Scootaloo. “You two aren’t half bad when you need to be.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” said Cross.

Suddenly Spitfire’s expression grew much more serious. “However,” she said, “who is this, and why shouldn’t I kick you out in the dust for bringing another mare back here?!”

“She’s different, Ma’am!” Cross whined. Scootaloo tried desperately not to break down laughing. “She’s not Equestrian, Ma’am. She’s from the Chaos Isles.”

Spitfire rolled her eyes. “Let me guess, she fell down from the heavens...”

“Yeppers, Ms. Ma’am Spitfire Captain!” said Ghost, bouncing out from behind the others. “Spitfire Ma’am Captain? Captain Spit-Ma’am-Fire?”

The Captain’s jaw dropped. “Alright, I’ll bite,” she said. “Where’d you find a non-Seether alien?”

“Er, he’s not exaggerating, Ma’am,” Scootaloo said feebly. “The Isles passed by this afternoon near our patrol route. We caught her falling out of it.”

Sergeant Marble raised an eyebrow. “Falling out of the Chaos Isles, eh?” he asked. “How are you sure?”

“She says she’s Discord’s daughter,” said Cross. “Or... something.”

The officers each took a step back from Ghost. “And you brought her here?!” Spitfire yelled. “Are you out of your mind?”

Cross quickly jumped between Ghost and the other two. “Sh-she’s harmless!” he said. “I swear! A little weird and loopy, sure, but she’s just an innocent filly at heart!”

The Sergeant and Captain summarily ignored him. “I think,” said Marble, “this could be some changeling scheme. They could see our patrol routes. They could see the Isles on its own path.”

“I don’t know...” said Spitfire, rubbing her chin as she tried to get a better look at Ghost. “What’s with the eyes, anyway? I’ve never seen that on anypony, not even as some weird civilian fashion thing.”

Cross bit his lip. “Come on, come on...” he muttered. “There’s got to— Wait! Sirs, I can prove it!”

Spitfire glared at him. “Stand aside, corporal. This isn’t your call.”

“But I can help make it, Ma’am,” he insisted. Cross trotted across the room towards the hologram-table and started rummaging through the drawers behind it. The officers just let him go, both more focused on giving Ghost a thorough, three-sixty inspection. Scootaloo, on the other hoof...

“What. Are. You. Doing?!” she whispered harshly in Cross’ ear. “This isn’t your stuff! Put it back!”

Cross scoffed. “Scootaloo, please. I know what all this does— Aha!” He lifted out a small device, something like a barcode scanner with more buttons and switches on it, as well as a small screen above the handle. “Magic scanner. They use it to find changelings that aren’t so dumb as to blow their cover.”

Scootaloo glanced quickly over at the officers; to her relief, they still weren’t looking. “Neat,” she said. “Now put it back!”

“Hang on,” he said, hovering it out and snickering to himself. “Come on, Scoot, you gotta admit this is cool.”

“All of it’s cool. I know that, that’s half the reason I joined the Guard,” Scootaloo said with an exasperated sigh. “Now put it back!”

Cross flicked a switch on the front of the device and pointed it at himself. On the screen, a purple bar began to rise and waver around the middle of the screen. “Unicorn magic,” he said.

“Great,” Scoot grumbled. “Now—”

He turned it on Scootaloo for a moment, then turned the screen to show her. Now a sky blue bar had risen to that mid point, although it started to fall as they watched. “Pegasus magic, too. You know, that stuff that lets you fly so well. This thing just goes to show how much magic is out there that we’re not even aware of!”

“Good grief, Cross, do you realize how much of a nerd you sound like right now?”

Before he could respond, the device began to glow brightly and make several high-pitched beeping noises. On the screen, every bar was drawn out to a steady maximum, with several warning flashing across the bottom. The two ponies stared at this for a moment before their eyes slowly rose off the screen; the device was aimed at Ghost.

“What does that mean?” asked Scootaloo.

“I can settle this!” said the Sergeant, continuing from his conversation with Spitfire. He stomped on over past Ghost, making her spin around as she tried to watch both officers as they’d watched her, and up to Cross. “Rifle, corporal. Now.”

Cross gasped. “Sir, you can’t shoot her! She’s a civilian!”

“Or a changeling,” said the Sergeant, scooping the rifle off Cross’ back by hoof. “Frankly, be thankful I’m not testing you for this. You’re way too protective of her for your own good.”

The way Marble worded that, a thought came to Cross’ mind. “Discord... he—” His eyes grew wide. “Sir! You can’t shoot her!”

His rifle, however, was already primed in the Sergeant’s hooves. “Antimagic bolt, corporal. Just a little zap, and we’ll see if she’s really what she says she is.”

“If not more,” Cross muttered pathetically, gulping as he stared at Ghost and the overloading scanner.

“Clear!” yelled the Sergeant. Spitfire stood back a few paces.

Scootaloo and Cross took one look at each other, grabbed the other by the shoulder, and hit the deck.

Now, none of the ponies in that room that day could ever quite agree on what they saw next. There was something of a blinding white light that flared up from the end of the Sergeant’s weapon’s beam. That’s one of the few things their stories would ever have in common. Spitfire would claim she saw a swirling mass of some white gel, that almost seemed ethereal in nature. Scootaloo thought she saw a dark abyss, gazing into the infinite, amidst a swirl of deformed pieces of a pony’s body. Cross Talk only claimed to see white and black swirled together and clouded through watery eyes; he would also claim that the only tears in his eyes were thanks to the sheer intensity of the light.

Sergeant Marble, however, would be very vivid in his description of the incident. A swirling mass of white tendrils surged forth from the point of impact, growing ever closer though never quite reaching him. He believed there to be, masked in a sea of white, a single, red, draconic eye with a distinct swirl on the iris staring him down, lulling him into a hypnotic state.

There were only a few certainties about this particular incident. For one, the effects were both blinding and deafening. Second, while the ponies in the office were incapacitated, all the windows in the room and most of the screen were shattered, while almost all of the computers and similar tech, including lights, in the first forty floors of the Western Resistance Mesa base started to display random images of static and turn off and on in varying intervals.

Lastly, Cross Talk was the one to break the effects by shutting his eyes, retrieving the rifle from the Sergeant’s hooves with magic, and switching the fire mode to ‘stun’ mid-stream.

As he did so, the green magical bolt-stream turned to white and shorted out. Whatever was there in the middle of the room, it was gone now, leaving only Ghost with smoking hair and a dazed look on her face.

“Whe-ee...” she groaned, stumbling about with a loopy smile on her face.

The Sergeant collapsed to the floor, mumbling something incoherent to himself. The others slowly stood up, dusting the glass off of themselves.

“That,” Spitfire growled at the corporals, “is called an asset! Not a civilian!”

“We didn’t know until you did, Ma’am,” said Cross, shaking in his hooves.

“Well now you do!” Spitfire slowly stepped away from her desk and towards the corporals, avoiding the glass as best she could. She took a look around at the monitors and sighed. “Yes, now we know your new girlfriend is really some alien... E-M-P... bomb. Or something.”

Ghost shook her head. “E-M-P?” she asked. “Isn’t it p-o-n-y?”

“Whatever!” Spitfire snapped. She looked over at her desk and groaned, shaking her head. “Are you all done destroying my office? I mean briefing me? Because I’ve got a new assignment for you three anyway.”

Scootaloo glanced over at the Sergeant and rolled her eyes. “Uhh, Ma’am? I think Sergeant Marble’s down for the count.”

“Not him,” said Spitfire. She pointed a hoof at Ghost. “You two and your asset.”

“Ghost is a ‘she’, Ma’am,” said Cross. Scootaloo gave him a quick jab to the side.

“That’s not what I saw, corporal,” Spitfire said, a bit softer in tone. She took one look at Ghost and shuddered. “Look, the point is, she’s useful. Frankly, we might be able to use that on your next mission.”

Scootaloo tilted her head. “Mission, Ma’am? I thought we were just a recon team.”

“Recon, scout, same thing. At least it is when we’re strapped for hooves around here.” Spitfire raised her hoof towards her desk, but saw the shards again and thought better of it. “You know those changelings, right? How they’re getting bolder?”

“And stupider, right?” Scootaloo offered.

“Actually, that’s not far off,” said Spitfire. “Another recon team spotted them circling a mesa like vultures due West of here. And another after them confirmed it. We’ve found their hive, and tonight, we’re taking it down.”

“Sweet!” said Scootaloo. She saluted, ignoring a piece of glass in her hoof. “We’ll do our best, Ma’am!”

“Hang on,” said Cross, looking at the Captain sideways. “What’s Ghost got to do with this?”

Spitfire looked around the room, gesturing along with her hoof. “You see this? You see what she does if we light that fuse? I call that quick clearance. Emergencies only, of course, but—”

“You want us to weaponize that?!” Cross asked. “Ma’am, that’s Discord’s protective magic, least as far as I can tell. How can you be sure it won’t backfire?”

Spitfire cleared a space on the floor, then stomped her hoof. “What part of ‘emergencies only’ don’t you understand, corporal? Take her— Ghost with you to the changeling hive. If things get hairy, you know how to set her off and set it right.”

“But—”

“That’s an order, Cross!” Spitfire yelled through grit teeth. She paused, then sighed. “Look: just get it done, and come home tonight. That’s all I’m asking.” Finding careful hoofing, she made her way closer to the two and put a hoof on Scootaloo’s shoulder. “You two aren’t bad out there. Don’t think I’m trying to get rid of you or anything.”

“But you kind of are,” said Cross.

“Wrong,” said Spitfire. She nodded back over her shoulder at a very flustered looking Ghost. “I’m getting rid of a monster.”

“She’s not—”

“I don’t care!” Spitfire yelled in Cross’ face. “Callsign’s ‘Charlie’. Main group should be in the hangar massing by the exit. You take lead.”

Scootaloo nodded, but Cross once more raised his hoof. “Ma’am,” he said. “I don’t th—”

‘I. Don’t. Care.” Spitfire glared at him and pointed to the door. “Get going, and get that abominable, living E-M-P out of my base!”

“She means you, Ghost,” said Scootaloo, already hurrying out the door with Cross.

Ghost trotted on after, yet stopped just short and smiled at Spitfire. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ll help if I can,” she said.

“Please leave,” Spitfire grumbled.

And so she did, just barely sidestepping the quivering Sergeant on the floor.

---

The mesa in question was a fairly unassuming one, especially compared to that of the base. There weren’t any particular paths up or chips carved out by impact or erosion or anything of the sort. Only a few scattered dark spots, presumably holes to act as entrances and exits for the bugs, showed any sign that it was more than just a large rock in the desert.

Captain Spitfire wasn’t kidding; the entirety of the sixteen sand-skimmer party headed out of the base and took a straight western heading for at least two hours. It gave Cross Talk and Ghost at least a little time to pick glass out of Scootaloo, at least once Cross had finished with himself.

By the time they had gotten there, the sun was mostly set, illuminating the desert in a beautiful orange-pink glow. Scootaloo’s skimmer was the first to arrive, as planned. They had been shown a few pictures back in the hangar from the recon team that caught the first glimpse; supposedly, there was an entrance four-fifths of the way up. Unfortunately, trying to set the skimmer there nearly capsized the vessel, forcing them to make an emergency stop at the peak.

Ghost trotted around in a circle around the outer edge of the mesa flat, staring at the sky. “I never knew night could be so pretty...”

“Easy there, Ghost,” said Scootaloo as she trotted around back for the supply compartment. “Stay close around here. We’ll keep ya safe, but we gotta keep track of ya, first.”

Cross, meanwhile, was laying on the back of the skimmer, fiddling with his headset. “Repeat,” he said into the microphone, “prepare rappelling equipment. The landing balcony is too narrow. I— yes, we tried! I almost died because of that stupid thing!” He looked over the rear railing at Scootaloo; she didn’t even look at him. He held a hoof over his mic. “Uhh, Scoot? You there? Where’s the snark?”

Scootaloo put on a helmet from the rear over her headset, then slammed the compartment and fluttered up into Cross’ face. “You listen to me, then I’ll listen to you. Got it?”

“Okay, about the scanner? I’m sorry. But that was totally not my fault! I tried to stop him!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Scootaloo flew over to the edge of the mesa and peered over. “Look, it’s a matter of judgment calls, alright? You’re kind of... well if today’s any indication, you’re just awful at those.”

“Scoot, you know that’s not fair.” Cross put a hoof up to his headset again. “Mhmm, mhmm... yes, just head up the northwest face. North. West. How hard is that to understand?!”

With a groan, Scootaloo fluttered up and over the edge of the mesa. Ghost quickly ran after to watch; the quick-moving white pony caught Cross’ eye.

“Scoot?! Where are you going?” he called over the com-link.

Scootaloo scanned the side of the mesa for the balcony they’d skipped, then swooped in for a landing. “Relax, Cross,” she said.

“Relax? Are you kidding me?! Get back here and wait for the others!”

“Re-lax,” Scootaloo repeated as she landed. Before her was no doubt of the changelings’ presence; the entrance was coated in a thick green membrane. She took a deep breath, then hovered back off the ground and un-shouldered her rifle. “Cross, I’m armed, and I have the coms to keep in-touch with. Besides, we’re the scouts. This is our job, checking things out before the others.”

“If I hear so much as a single shot...”

“Twenty bits then,” said Scoot. “Double or nothing, I’ll be fine.”

“... fine. If only to make this a win-win for me, fine. Just please be careful!”

“Hey, what’d I tell ya? I was trained by the best, remember?”

“I don’t even know how to respond to that.”

Good, thought Scootaloo as she flicked on a flashlight on her helmet. The light seemed to make the membrane contract on reflex, opening it up for her. Still, she proceeded with caution, especially once the membrane closed shut behind her.

Inside, as far as she could tell, there was just a single exit from the chamber at the far end. There weren’t even any side burrows or tunnels, at least none big enough for a changeling. At most, there were piles of green goo stuck around the walls. Scootaloo nearly gagged; she swore one of them was moving.

“Hey,” she whispered into the mic, “First room’s clear, only one way through. I’m heading in deeper.”

“Oh no you aren’t,” said Cross. “Scoot, just wait. I see the others, they’re on their way n—”

Scootaloo rolled her eyes. “What’s that? I... an... eak... ingup...”

“... what are you, four?”

“Four what? What’s this thingy? Who are you talking to?” Ghost had apparently found Cross’ headset. From the sound of things, she had taken it off his head and they had started to fight over it, too. Scootaloo just smiled and carried on. She was especially glad after a short click on the other end and the the silence that followed.

Down the hall she went, carefully navigating as the rock grew narrower, then wider, then almost too narrow to squeeze through, then wider again. All the while, she felt the musk and must of the area dampen down her armor and exposed feathers. If not for feeling the need to hold a weapon in her hooves, she would’ve set down and tried to walk the rest of the way to keep her wings closer by her sides. At least the intake on her helmet was filtered, to an extent. It wasn’t custom-fitted, so some of the raw stench of changeling slime got through occasionally; the odor was dizzying.

She then found herself in an odd cavern. It was a bit larger than the first, and as she scanned about, there were many more tunnels and other openings to be found. The green slime and membranes piled up over most of the room, but one massive blob caught Scootaloo’s eye. It was almost perfectly rounded, centered against the far wall, and seemed to be a bit discolored when she shone her light upon it.

Scootaloo slowly and warily fluttered closer to it, through a beam of sunlight shining through a crack in the ceiling. It wasn’t just a glob; it was a pod of some sort. The discoloration came from what was inside; a changeling. But on close inspection, this wasn’t just some normal changeling. It had hair, a longer, more elaborate horn, and... eyelids?

“What the...” Scootaloo gave the pod a prod with the end of her rifle, and the entire contents began to shift for a moment. She jumped back, leveling her weapon at the thing, but nothing else seemed to happen. “Hmm,” she said, looking between her weapon and the pod. “I wonder...”

Next she gave a sharper jab with the barrel. She wasn’t quite prepared for the results; the pod’s ‘skin’ burst open, and a surge of viscous green fluid flowed forth, directly onto Scootaloo. Soon, the creature inside the pod flowed out with it, parts of its carapace ripping at the membrane of the pod in the process.

Some of the fluid ran past the visor on the helmet and got in Scootaloo’s mouth. Immediately, she threw the helmet down and gagged and coughed onto her hooves; the rancid taste lingered in her mouth like a film made of sewage waste.

Yet as she did so, she heard something else do the same. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a bright green flash; she quickly scooped up her rifle and aimed it at the source, the creature from the pod, only to almost immediately drop the weapon again. “No,” she said. “N-no, you can’t... no!”

The changeling shook her head, and what was left of the fluid on her hair drained off; that hair, along with the changeling’s tail and non-black body carapace, slowly pulsated through the colors of the visible spectrum. The changeling herself, for it was clear by her figure it was a she, looked over to Scootaloo and smiled, made only more twisted by her inches-long wicked fangs. Even as she spoke, it was off. Familiar, yet distorted beyond all comfort:

“Hey, kid,” said Rainbow Dash. “Um... where are we?”

Comments

[Mothykins]

I think I'm in love.

[Mothykins]

Now that I'm awake and articulate, lets do an actual comment.

I like this. The way it portrays the characters so far makes me want to read more, and there's been just enough description of what has happened to make me want more of that as well. Rainbow in particular. How this goes from here... Well, I'm pretty hopeful.

[oblivion2k]

Very interesting start. Looking forward to more!

[Aqua Shimmer]

Changeling Dash + Grown Scootaloo =

[Aqua Shimmer]

Please remember this fic!!!!!! I want more!!!!!!!!!!

[TheStratovarian]

Rather enjoyable, the good and bad of this are fun to read.