> My Name is Elijah
>  by twitterdick
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> 1. Prologue
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	An old stallion with a dark auburn coat and a weather saddlebag walked down a dirt road. He rubbed his tired eyes and adjusted the bag on his crooked back. The midday sun beat down on his head particularly hard, and he missed his lost straw hat.
He came to the top of a hill and strained to see a mechanized vehicle off in the distance. It rustled and buzzed of strained moving parts loud enough to echo across the countryside. The old stallion carefully took of his saddlebag and positioned himself on the side of the road. The vehicle approached with two riders.
"What a waste that was, Flim!" one of the riders - male, unicorn, cold eyes, fake mustache, red-orange and white hair, light peach skin, cutie mark; red apple with a slice missing - cried, "What on Earth went wrong!?"
The old stallion fished out a hook and some string from his pack.
"Nothing but bad luck, dear brother!" the other rider - male, unicorn, calculating eyes, similarly featured, likely brothers, cutie mark; a red apple slice - responded, "It's a sign, you see; our fortune merely lies over the horizon, awaiting our arrival!"
"Oh, I see!"
The vehicle passed the old stallion and its riders paid him no attention. He swung his hook up above him and launched it at the vehicle's back wheels. It caught itself in the spindles of the left rear tire and shattered it. The vehicle collapsed backwards and slid along the road before it began to spin. Friction soon slowed the wreckage.
The old stallion next collected a wrist mounted crossbow and slipped his right hoof into it. He loaded a bolt and attached another string to the firing mechanism. With the other half of the string clenched between his teeth, he approached the wreck.
"Uggh…" said the first rider, "Are you alright, Flim?"
The second rider pulled himself out from underneath some of the vehicle's ruined machine and wiped his nose. "I-I'm fine, Flam. Whatever happened? Did we hit a rock?"
The old stallion circled the wreck and stood before the riders. They noticed him quickly.
"Oh, excuse me, sir? Would you happen to be a mechanic?" the first rider ask.
The old stallion said nothing. He lifted his right arm and tilted his head. "Bits," he said.
The first rider blinked incredulously. "Bits? Why, we'd be happy to pay you for your services once we-"
"I… I believe he means to rob us, Flam!!" the second rider said.
"Rob us!?" said the first.
The old stallion gritted the string in his teeth and aimed his crossbow at the first rider. "Give me whatever bits you have on you and I will let you live," he said coldly.
"S-Sir!" said the first, "We… My brother and I are a poor sort, sir, and we-"
"All money we have is for our sick mother, you see!" said the second, "Sir, please, let us be on our way and nopony will hear of this!!"
"I don't care about your mother," the old stallion said, "Give me what bits you have or I will kill both of you and take them. Choose now."
"O-Oh… Oh my," the first said, "Why, I think he's quite serious, Flim…"
"I t-think he's deadly serious, Flam!"
"Fetch the purse! Give it to him before he does something terrible!"
"R-Right!"
The second rider dug around the wreckage near him and searched for their coin purse. He soon pulled an aged scarlet purse from underneath some wooden planks and tossed it to the feet of the old stallion.
"There you are, sir!" the second said, "Now… now let us leave in peace!"
The old stallion paused a moment, then, with his crossbow still aimed at the first, he bent down and collected the purse. He backed away and relented and returned to his pack before heading off on his way. He slipped the crossbow and the purse inside.
He had made it over the next hill and out of sight of the riders when he shifted into the form of a middle aged, faded purple mare with copper eyes and a silver mane. He paused to adjust his pack to fit his new slender form and headed past a wooden sign.
Ponyville, 2 miles.
> 2. Absalom Hunts...
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	A middle aged, faded purple mare with copper eyes and a silver mane approached the small town of Ponyville. It was a quiet autumn afternoon. There was the pleasant smell of freshly cut grass and warm apple pie in the air. The trees along the road were ripe with apples, and several citizens gathered around a farmstead to enjoy fresh cider. The dirt beneath her hooves was pleasantly cool compared to the sunbaked roads she’d walked to get here. Soon, she came upon a bridge that preceded the town’s center, which bustled with shops, restaurants, places of business and citizens.
She remembered her protocol - to seek the local agent and acquire information on the bounty - but something jagged tugged at her inside. She postponed protocol and approached a youth - female, pegasus, soft eyes, light purple mane, light cream skin, cutie mark; three pink and cyan butterflies - sightseeing and humming to herself. An ample informant, she sufficed; Dutiful, sweet, eager to help.
"Excuse me, young lady, might I trouble you for a question?" she asked sweetly.
"Oh, sure, I don't mind," the youth said bashfully, "How can I help you?"
"My dear old dog passed away recently, might you know a place where I could get a headstone made for him. He was like family, you see…"
"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that, ma'am!" said the youth, "The only place that I know of is a little shop called ‘Horseshoes and Headstones’. It's just around the corner over there on the left. It’s a bright red building, and you’re sure to see the sign.”
The middle aged mare smiled gently but sadly. "Thank you so much, dear.”
"Oh, you're very welcome!"
The middle aged mare walked through the small, crowded square in the direction the youth had directed her. She soon came across the little shop. It was a bright red despite its rather morbid function and the windows were a vivid stain glass arrangement. She stopped and admired the windows for a time, and even caught herself smiling. She exhaled and internally scolded herself before entering the store.
A bell rung when she opened the door and the clerk behind the counter - male, earth pony, cheerful yet weary eyes, dark blue coat, black  mane, cutie mark; a grey headstone imprinted with a horseshoe - poked his head up from a magazine and smiled at her.
"Hello!" he said cheerfully, "Come on in! Welcome to 'Horseshoes and Headstones'. If you need a new pair or to calm your despair, we're happy to help you!"
She allowed her eyes to wander as she approached the counter. She took a special note of the old wooden furniture and the faded photographs in metal frames that dotted them. The rug on the floor was old as well, but it was well cared for. There was a pleasant scent of pinewood in the air that masked the smell of decaying wood. She stopped and touched a potted plant with thin leaves stretching out in a spiral from a twisted center. She remembered when she had read that spirals in nature follow a specific pattern; a set of numbers. She couldn't remember the name of that series of numbers, though.
"Ma'am?" the store clerk said, "Can I help you?"
She snapped away from her introspection and approached him. She smiled a painful smile and nodded. "Yes. I was wondering if I could get a headstone made for my old dog. He's died, you see…"
The clerk nodded. "I'm sorry to hear that…"
"It's… it's alright, thank you."
The clerk rubbed his mouth and thought. "Is there any kind of style you're thinking of, or?"
"Something simple will do. I don't have a terribly large amount of money, you see. A fine stone that has his name on it will do nicely."
The clerk nodded. "Lot's of ponies get something like that for their pets. I've got some nice smooth cobblestone, if that'd do. It's about the size of the head of a stool."
"That'd do nicely."
"Would you like to see it?"
She winced. She was late as it was. "No… no thank you," she said. She pulled an aged scarlet purse from her saddlebag. "How much will it be?" she asked.
"Oh, you don't have to pay until you pick it up!" the clerk said, "It should be ready in a few hours. It'll be 32 bits. You can pay now or later, if you'd like."
She nodded. "I'll pay when I'll pick it up, then. I'll be back in a few hours."
"Oh, and the name on the headstone?"
"'Elijah.'"
"Elijah? What a strange name. Anyhow, I'll have your headstone ready and waiting for you later this evening!"
"Thank you."
The middle aged mare turned and left the nice-smelling store and walked down the street a ways before settling down on a bench. She pulled an envelope from her saddlebag and reread the instructions pertaining to meeting her contact. She frowned at the incessant repetition of the protocol she'd memorized since her conception, then pulled a small, worn map that marked the house of this region's contact. She frowned. She'd completed retrieval missions in this region at least a dozen times, but they always included instructions on meeting the same contact in the same cottage. 'Joshua' never moved in all the time she'd known him.
She frowned as she left the comforting bustle of the town's square behind and moved west then north towards the residential area. The pleasant click of her hooves on the smooth cobblestone gave way to the brittle feel of gravel. She passed house after house, each uniquely shaped. They all had lawns of varied degrees of orderliness; some with shrubs, others decorations or flower gardens. She missed the apple smell and the feel of cobblestone, but the flowers were still in bloom and well cared for. They provided a nice smell and calming sight, which distracted her from the slight pain of her crossbow poking her side through her bag.
After about twenty minutes, she approached a small brick house with a wooden door set apart from the rest. The lawn was unkempt and moss grew on the sides of the walls, but the place was homely with The smell of warm soup coming from the open windows.
She approached the door and knocked.
"Who's there? A visitor?" called a male voice from inside.
"'I am not one of them,'" she recited.
The was a pause as the resident came to his door.
"…'but they all know me by name,'" he responded. He unlatched the locks and opened the door.
"You're late," he said.
"I apologize," she said, "There was a delay. I needed money, so I robbed two unicorns out in the country."
"In this skin!?"
"No, not in this skin. I'm not stupid."
"Are they dead?"
"…Of course they are. Not locals, I think. They won't be missed."
”Alright, alright, come in."
She entered the house and settled down at a small, round table.
"There's plenty of soup, if you're hungry," said the contact as he fixed himself a bowl.	
"I'm fine, thank you," she responded.
"Suit yourself," the contact said. He placed his bowl on the table across from her and went over to a nearby filing cabinet. He flipped through some files and pulled out an old manilla folder that held more papers than it could really manage. He returned to the table and placed the folder a distance from his soup before taking a large sip. Then he flipped open the folder.
"Which one are you?" he asked.
"'Absalom,'" she replied.
Her contact mumbled the name under his breath flipped through some of the papers.
"Ah, 'Absalom,' here it is," he said as he pulled out one of the papers. He made sure she could not see it, but she could at least see that there were three small polaroids attached to it. He read it over and continued to mumble to himself. She knew 'Joshua' remembered her, but he too was a slave to protocol. She noticed how annoyed he was more and more with every subsequent visit.
"I see you're still using the middle aged mare skin," he said.
"Yes," she said.
"Are you still using the young male pegasus and the old unicorn skins?"
"I'm retaining the former and retiring the latter," she said, "It's ill advised to use a thief on a retrieval mission."
"A thief and a murderer," 'Joshua' corrected. He scribbled something on the piece of paper and took another sip of his soup.
"What was that skin's name?" he asked.
"'Cato'."
"The Manehattan professor?"
"The very same."
"I'll handle the death certificate." 'Joshua' pulled off one of the polaroids and wrote on it. He got up from the table, filed the picture away and pulled out an old camera. "Create a new skin, if you would. We'll handle the details after you complete your assignment."
The middle aged mare thought a while as her contact fiddled with the camera. He took a test shot them motioned her over to the wall. She turned into a young dark blue unicorn; female, white hair, calming eyes, cutie mark; a clouded moon.
'Joshua' wrote down the new skin's characteristics and took her photograph. He set the camera down on the filing cabinet, sat down at the table and sipped some more of his soup. He pulled her profile within writing distance. "Just need a name. We'll take care of the details later."
That was against protocol, but she didn't really mind. She shifted back to the middle aged made skin. "'Clouded Night,'" she said.
"How original," 'Joshua' mocked softly, "Keep your story straight if you use that one. Contradictions lead to questions, and I doubt either of us want to be decommissioned."
She nodded in response.
"Alright, onto business." He shuffled his papers and pulled a specific sheet up. "Which rogue asset are you retrieving?"
"'Elijah.'"
"'Elijah?'" said ‘Joshua.’ He looked through his papers, then pulled out a piece and placed it in front of her. It was like her own, with three pictures clipped to it; beneath was some identifying information. "'Elijah', Retriever, six years; was noted to be slipping about two months ago. He's collected nearly 60 bounties, but was relieved and slated for decommissioning after simply allowing one to escape a few weeks ago."
“Was that one collected eventually?"
"Yes. There's no need to worry about that. But, 'Elijah' did not submit for decommissioning. He knocked out a few of our Collectors and ran. We've been tracking him, but he's changed appearances too much. You need to be careful. None of the pictures we have of him matter, but we know he prefers to wear Earth pony skins, usually a red or orange color, and he's been shifting a lot, so locals won't be too familiar with him. Ask around. Find 'Elijah,' collect him and bring him back to me." He slid the three photographs from 'Elijah''s file across the table, just in case.
"Alright."
'Joshua' sipped more of his soup and stared back at her. She seemed to have space out slightly, and was staring at his bookshelves.
"You're dismissed, 'Absalom,'" he said.
She blinked, nodded, collected the photographs then left without a word.
The skins 'Elijah' once used consisted, as was general normal among his fellow assets, one earth pony, pegasus and unicorn skin with two females and a male. He preferred greens, reds, blacks and grays, it seemed. She focused on the male unicorn, red with an orange man, and crafted a tale around the image.
She spent two hours in the middle-aged mare skin asking citizens about the photograph. “Please, have you seen my son?” she’d ask, “He’s been missing, and I heard that he might have come through here.” Most of the citizens were helpful and quickly offered sympathies and tangental, anecdotes about her fictitious son. It proved to her that ‘Elijah’ had been here, based on the few who recognized the photograph, and that he’d used this skin. She figured he was no more than two days outside the city if he had left at all. However, hunger and fatigue soon plagued her and she remembered the headstone she’d ordered a few hours ago. She made her way back to that particular store.
There was a familiar ring as she opened the door.
“Good afternoon, welcome to… ah, it’s you! Don’t worry, your headstone is waiting for you right here behind the counter.” The weary eyed clerk pulled the small stone from behind the counter. It was smooth and grey, with the name ‘Elijah’ etched on it in all caps. 
“Oh, it looks lovely,” she said, feigning a mournful sadness. She allowed herself to tear up slightly as she gazed upon it to add some sympathetic believability to the act. She’d known ponies to be a sentimental sort. “How much do I owe you?’
“It’ll be 32 bits,” he said as he bagged up the headstone. She gladly paid him with her stolen bits and grabbed the bag. She used the strap to place it on her shoulder, next to her standard issue supply sack.
The sun was maybe two hours from setting, and it began to paint the sky orange. She purchased a cheap shovel from a nearby gardening store and recalled a dark forest to the east of the city and casually made her way there. Twenty minutes went by before she found it. Everfree, she believed the name was.
She followed the edge of the forest until she came upon a river, and, in turn, followed it upstream and into the forest. It buzzed with life all around her. Birds cawed in their nests as their brethren picked at the ground for food. Snakes hissed as she passed them, then continued their business as if she’d never been there. She saw two squirrels, a rare sight in such a forest, chasing each other among the twisted branches. Frogs croaked along the murky contours of the river, and she saw dragonflies and could make out the heads of turtles in the water. She found something soothing and wonderful about forests, though rivers had to be her favorite thing on this earth.
She found an empty spot among a small hill near the river. It was as good a place as any. The headstone had tired out her shoulders as she’d carried it, and she was relieved to let it down. She carefully cleared away moss, sticks and dead leaves from the clearing. Bugs scurried away from the site. She went slowly as to not disturb or provoke them. After the debris had been sufficiently cleared, she dug. The earth here was thick and wet with roots buried deep. It was difficult work, but she soon had a long hole about two feet deep etched into the earth. She let herself out and placed the headstone by the hole and close to the river. 
It was calm, and she rested for a few minutes before resolving to find dinner at a restaurant. ‘Joshua’ and the protocol would be furious, but an asset needed to eat and she’d heard wondrous things about some of the restaurants in Ponyville. She stretched out her back and shape-shifted into a young male pegasus with a deep green coat, golden eyes and a black mane. He headed back to town and wondered if the chefs and waiters would recognize the photograph of his ‘brother’. 
> 3. Absalom Finds...
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	Word around the town was that this young male pegasus with a deep green coat, golden eyes and a black mane had a brother missing. He noticed that most he asked noted that ’Elijah’ was a strange name, and they’d tell him stories of a stranger wandering through town a few weeks ago who’d camped out somewhere near the Everfree forest. Others would tell him some orange earth pony wandered through from Appleloosa and took up work at a local diner. Others said they say a strange black figure lurking near an abandon mine shaft at the base of the mountain. 
“Oh, I remember seeing a pony like that,” said the local librarian - female, unicorn, calculating eyes, navy blue mane with a violet and deep pink streak, purple coat, cutie mark; a large, six-pointed red star among smaller, white six-pointed stars, “He’d asked to borrow a book, and I let him. Come to think of it, he hasn’t returned it. If you find him, could you tell him I’d like it back?”
The young pegasus did his best to seem worried. “Did he tell you where he was going or… or give any kind of hint to his destination? Did he seemed worried or apprehensive about anything?”
The librarian shook her head. “Not that I know of. I heard a friend of mine say she’d seen him out near the Everfree forest, but I haven’t seen him since.”
She looked him up and down. “If you can’t find him, I could see about getting the Royal Guard to issue a missing pony report…”
He frowned. He certainly couldn’t get any kind of pony authority involved, but to decline such would be suspicious. “Let me see if I can’t find him first. I’m not sure if it’s anything serious, but… Will you be in the library the next few days?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He smiled politely and bowed. “Thank you for your help, miss.”
“Anytime. Good luck finding your brother.”
He went back to the town square where he’d remembered seeing benches he could use for a rest. The clank of the cobblestone calmed him some. He sat and thought, and gazed at the sun. The sun was setting. If ‘Elijah’ was truly camping out in the Everfree forest, he’d surely return there for the night. His stomach rumbled and his palette ached for the fresh greens of a restaurant. The dried grains supplied to him in his pack didn’t quite satisfy him anymore - not since he’d given in to the temptation and tried pony food a few jobs back. With that, he decided to try the diner some of the townsponies had pointed him to.
It was a small establishment called Johnnie V’s bar and grill, named after some old legend of a biker minotaur that ran a gang west of the town some fifty years prior. The restaurant was filled with memorabilia and little text blurbs explaining his story. Old photographs of him were hung on the way alongside what appeared to be his leather jacket and glasses in a glass case behind the counter. The hostess - female, unicorn, tired eyes, a purple mane of a lighter and darker shade, lavender coat, cutie mark; a purple four leaf clover - greeted him with what must’ve been a branded salutation, for her tone did nothing to mask how much she loathed saying it.
“Table for one, please,” he said.
She nodded, collected a menu and showed him to a small table near the corner. He was seated by an old juke box that played some old, poorly recorded music. The air smelled of cooking eggs and fried greens laced with smells of smoke and bathroom cleaner. The floor was well mopped, the diner was at about two-thirds capacity and waiters and waitresses hurried around delivering meals and taking orders. He looked for exits, as per his training. Besides the front door, there was a closed off side door under renovation that lead to an outside seating area. He noted an emergency exit by the restrooms and figured the kitchen had a door by which food delivers were made.
“Hey there, dude, welcome to Johnnie V’s. Can I get you somethin’ to drink?”
The waiter startled the young pegasus. He shook his head. “Um, water, please,” he blurted out.
“All right!” he scribbled such on a small notepad. The young pegasus looked up at him. He was a young earth pony… red coat… green mane… copper eyes, cutie mark-
“You got it, dude!” His waiter scurried off to the kitchen. The young pegasus eyed him suspiciously as he left and disappeared into the kitchen. He stared at the door a while, then, figuring he was looking somewhat conspicuous, stared down at his menu. All appetite had abandoned him and he found himself clenching his teeth his heart was racing. The ticking of a clock pounded in his ear. Could it be ‘Elijah’?
The door of the kitchen opened and his waiter bumped into a fellow employee. “Watch it, new guy!” she snapped. The young pegasus grinded his teeth and tapped his foot softly against the floor. He felt apprehensive… and hesitant. He’d never felt such a horrid rush before a retrieval. He’d never felt such nerves except when he suspected he might be revealed. The waiter set the water down on the table next to him.
“Ready to order, man?”
The pegasus shuffled and bit his lip. “I, uh, um, I’m not sure. Is there anything you’d recommend?”
His waiter thought. “The omelettes are pretty good, as is the grand salad. That’s all I’ve tried, really.” He laughed. “Honestly, I haven’t worked here long.”
The pegasus cocked his head. “Have you lived in town long?”
His waiter looked him in the eye and shuttered slightly. “…No. You?”
The pegasus took a sip of his water. It’s coolness relieved his dry mouth only for a short time. “I’m only passing through.” They were both quiet for a time. They were both still. He knew, and the other knew right back. The pegasus’s heart pounded in his chest and his grip on his bag. “Actually… I’m looking for somepony,” he added without looking up from the table, “I was hoping a local could tell more, but…”
His waiter laughed softly. "Well," he said, "I suppose you could say that I am not one of them." He eyed the pegasus nervously.
The pegasus took a big gulp and set the glass down firmly. He exhaled out his nostrils. "…But they all know me by name," he said. He looked up coldly at ‘Elijah’. His grip on his pack tightened to the point that his hooves hurt.
His waiter’s face went white.
The two simply looked at each other for a while, like they were frozen. ‘Elijah’ was morbid; his brow crooked and his breathing tense. The pegasus simply watched him for a while, waiting. Then, he stuck a hoof into his pack. ‘Elijah’ flipped the table violently and the glass and silverware spilled onto the pegasus, who fell out of his chair. A costumer screamed. Another gasped. An employee shouted. Some filly whimpered. ‘Elijah’ wasted no time bolting for the door. He shoved the hostess to the ground and through the door open violently. 
The pegasus ignored the pain in his rear and jumped up to the window. ’Elijah’ ran out to the side, but his side of the restaurant. “Are you alright!?” came a call from a female voice. He ignored her, pulled out his crossbow and equipped it. She screamed and fell away. He grabbed the upturned table and hurled it at the window. It went crashing through and out into the street. The alarms in the diner went off and the public screamed and panicked. Some ran for the door. Some hid under their tables. Some stared at him in disbelief. He paid no mind and jumped out the window. 
‘Elijah’ had heard the crash and turned to see the table. He’d stopped and stared off at the pegasus with the saddest eyes he’d ever seen. “It doesn’t have to be like this!” he shouted. The pegasus ignored as was his duty and pulled a crossbow bolt from his pack. His bounty saw the bolt and his eyes widened. He swallowed and ran… ran for the town square.
The pegasus pursued.
His bounty upturned a grocery cart to obstruct him, but he’d simply leapt over it. ‘Elijah’ threw down benches, grabbed twigs and glass bowls that decorated balconies and hurled them at his pursuer. He’d even scooped some dirt and threw it. It hit the pegasus in the face, stinging his eyes and flooding his mouth. He stopped, spit and wiped. Then he saw. ‘Elijah’ ran ahead passed a few shops then, noticing a crowd before him, shook his head and bolted left down a different street. The pegasus realized he was actively avoiding civilians. He took off in pursuit. 
He turned the corner to find ‘Elijah’ leaning against a railing, panting. They locked eyes and the pegasus froze.	
‘Elijah’ looked on him with sadness and shook his head slowly. ”Do you ever wonder why you've done the things you've done?" The pegasus did not respond. He only waited. He could feel the heat of the setting sun on his back. He could see the creeping darkness of the night eating the sky behind ‘Elijah’, as well as the dark edges of the Everfree forest, which he mused was his bounty’s intended destination. Still, he watched. ‘Elijah’ seemed to be luring him away from Ponyville’s denizens, and, despite being more than capable, made no effort to attack him. 
“It… it doesn’t have to be like this,” ‘Elijah’ said, “How long before you’re just like me? How long before the Queen sends somepony to kill you just because you acknowledge that you’re an individual?”
The pegasus said nothing. He slowly brought his pack from his back to the ground and, without taking his eyes off ‘Elijah’, pulled out a crossbow bolt and put it between his teeth.
‘Elijah’ winced and turned to run. The pegasus was soon behind him with the bolt in his teeth. He cursed the fact that he hadn’t time to load it. ‘Elijah’ turned his head back occasionally to look at him despairingly, then continued out passed a residential area, passed the idle cottage, passed those that looked on. He ran until he reached the bridge that separated Ponyville from the Everfree forest beyond.
"Why do you think we run away!? The Queen doesn't care about you. The Queen doesn't care that you're sapient, so she tells you to feel nothing!"
The pegasus stopped just at the foot of the bridge and, again, made no response. He simply took the bolt from his mouth, skillfully loaded his crossbow and place the firing string in his mouth. ‘Elijah’ shook his head and cursed under his breath, then made for the tree line. The pegasus sprinted to the apex of the bridge and fired a shot. It missed and struck the dirt near its target. ‘Elijah’ shook his head and, much to his pursuer’s shook, shifted into his changeling skin - his default skin. The pegasus cocked his head and thought. He figured their natural, chitinous black skin would blend well with the darkness of the forest and their green eyes would blend with the foliage. He followed suit, and abandoned his pegasus skin for his natural changeling skin. He followed his bounty into the forest.
It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. His heart was pounding. His breathing was quick. His mouth was dry. He let the firing string fall from his mouth so he could catch his breath and took the time to reload. He then got low and moved towards a small mount he could see some yards in front of him. He lay himself down softly and listened. Crickets chirped in the distance. Cicadas screamed in the trees. He heard a fly buzzing frantically nearby. Passed that, he listened further. There was a rustling on the dead leaves. 
“…What’s your name?” ‘Elijah’ called out from the distance.  
“We don’t have names. Not truly.” It was foolish of him to even try responding.
“I do. It’s ‘Elijah’. My name is ‘Elijah’. You have one too. You don’t have to be a drone. You can be an individual.”
"Enough of this," the changeling called out, "You know enough about our work to know there's no escape. Cut me down and another will find you. Please, don't make this more difficult than it needs to be."
"Our work?" ‘Elijah’ shouted indignantly out in the distance. His cool was lost and his words sputtered from clenched teeth. "Is that what you call what you did? What I did? Work is constructive, we slaughter. I have buried hatchets into the skulls of our brothers. I have slit the throats of our young and felt nothing. I have butchered changelings because they wanted to live somewhere else. I have beaten and slashed and ripped and bit and torn and murdered them and if they had blood, I'd be covered in it. Covered in it!! And why? And for what!? So our Queen can sit in her cave and plot to take what isn't hers?! She takes and we're expected to give. There's a reckoning coming for all of us. Believe me. It's coming and we deserve it!"
He listened to the words, absorbed them, then listen passed for the breathing and rustle of leaves. The words gave away his bounty’s position. He got low to the ground and peered out towards the sounds. His gaze scanned the trees for a silhouette. He soon found one and fired a bolt towards it. It slapped into a tree trunk, but the silhouette jumped and slunk off into the jungle.
"Damn you!" he whispered to himself. He got up and ran after him.
His bounty’s hoof prints were easy enough to track in the jungle. The changeling rubbed his nose and listened. Everfree at night assaulted his senses. The air stung his eyes and he felt nose run. It was dark in this place. Light from the moon outside struggled to pierce the foliage, and the forest floor was littered with plant corpses. It was difficult to see. He stood up upon his hind legs and leaned against a tree. He allowed himself to change back into his pure form for his natural sight was more adjusted for the dark.
He carefully and quietly reloaded his crossbow while listening all around him. The jungle was fickle and it's sounds would soon betray ‘Elijah’. 
Sure enough, leaves cracked beneath the weight of hooves a few feet to his left. He clasped the firing mechanism in teeth and crept down among the lines of twisted trees. He couldn't see ‘Elijah’ through the brush, but if he calmly listened, he could hear his breathing. 
He whipped around the corner and saw ‘Elijah’ face to face. His teeth buried themselves upon the firing string but the startled green eyes of ‘Elijah’ made him pause. They were still for a moment, but ‘Elijah’ grunted and made off further into the jungle. The changeling fired his bolt at him but missed.
"When will she give the order that takes your life away!?" ‘Elijah’ shouted back at him.
The changeling started after him, but noticed an incline on the right that might give him a vantage point. He nodded to himself and crept up into the hill. It was covered in thick brush and stood over a small cliff that overlooked a moors. He nestled himself into the brush and spied ‘Elijah’ trying to maneuver the moors. He reloaded his crossbow very slowly in tune with the squeaks of the jungle.
‘Elijah’ looked all around. The changeling lay vary still in his brush and just watched him. His bounty paused from his rant and panted. His face was twisted from rethinking. Absalom had figured ‘Elijah' had lured him out into this forsaken forrest for a reason. He'd expected traps, but found none. He'd expected more of a fight from ‘Elijah’, but the latter just ran away and shouted. 
‘Elijah’ began to frantically look for his hunter in the jungle. He sputtered and mumbled to himself. The changeling did not blink, and slowly lifted his crossbow to the tune of nature around him and settled it on the fork in the branch in front of him. He clenched the firing string in his teeth and squinted.
His bounty’s mouth opened like he wanted to call out, but he appeared to bite his tongue and look around. The changeling breathed out and aimed. He fired, but ‘Elijah’ had moved, so it breezed by his back. He shrieked and made for the nearest brush line. It was on the opposite side from his hunter and he’d have to cross some mud. It was clear he was panicking.
The changeling sprung up and quickly reloaded. It was difficult to see ‘Elijah’ moving into the hazy atmosphere, but a shot in the dark might spare him from giving even more chase. He took aim and fired a second shot. He heard it hit something with a squish, but heard no scream. He sighed and collected his things from the brush and hurried into the swamp.
It stunk in the place and he had grown to hate mud. He tried to move around the contours of the large patch but it was difficult to see. He groaned and began to wade through it towards the direction he'd fired. There was a shadow before him. He approached.	
‘Elijah’ lay there in the mud. The bolt stuck from his hind leg and he whimpered. The changeling approached him slowly and laid his pack down between two rocks to his bounty’s left. He pulled his last bolt from the pack and attempted to reload his crossbow.
‘Elijah’ clutched his leg and panted. The changeling grunted with frustration. His bow was jammed. 
‘Elijah’ started to cry.
"Stop that," his hunter said. He disconnected the crossbow's string and carefully cleaned the parts around the firing mechanism. He felt a ping in his heart and it was awful.
"What's the point?" Elijah whimpered, "What's it all mean?" His pitiful voice cracked
‘Elijah’ pouted and tried to see the sky through the cracks in the canopy. He then turned to his hunter as the latter worked.
"There… there's got to more than just this, you know?"
"Be quiet."
"I mean… What's the point of developing something like consciousness if you just die and it doesn't matter. What's the point!?"
He wept more aggressively and coughed like he was choking.
The changeling finished his work and reassembled his crossbow. He test fired a bolt at a nearby tree. It worked perfectly. ‘Elijah’ stared over at the bolt in the tree. His breathing picked up.
"I'm.. I'm gonna… die," he murmured, "You're… You're gonna kill me…"
His hunter had finally loaded another bolt and positioned himself in front of ‘Elijah’. "Yeah," he said softly. He had a grim face. He aimed his crossbow at his bounty’s face. 
‘Elijah’ winced. "Can… could you stand me up? I'd like to go out…on my feet, you know?"
The changeling hesitated and thought. He swallowed. "No."
He clasp the firing string between his teeth and pulled. The bolt stuck its target’s right eye and, in an instant, ‘Elijah’ was snuffed out. His head whipped back from the force then slowly sunk forward. His mouth fell open and spit dripped out. His left eye was darkened. The fresh corpse tipped forward and fell into the mud. The left side of his face was just above the water line and the mirky water mixed with his blood and flooded his mouth. The changeling’s bolt had gone through the skull, and the pointed end stuck from the back of his head. 
He pulled the crossbow from its holster and placed it carefully into his pack. He moved to the corpse’s left side and brought his head down near the water. He tilted it and stared into the dead eye. It was just empty, like pages torn away from a journal. 
They were taught to look away, but lately the changeling felt he owed it to his bounty to watch. 
Light flickered in the dead eye like a dim flashbulb. Soon his skin soporifically sizzled and began to melt away. The broken body of his bounty slowly burned and was reduced to cinders. Some got caught up in the breeze and some were carried away by the muddy river, but most of the ash simply collected in a small circle around him. His flesh melted away like wood in a dying fire. Soon, only bones remained. They fluttered without skin or muscle to hold them together. 
The changeling pulled the tarp from his pack and laid it gently on the dirt near the corpse. He then collected them bones and placed them in a neat pile atop the tarp with the skull in a paramount position. He then pulled a pair of pliers from his pack and placed the rusted iron tip onto Elijah's right tooth and pulled it out. He placed the tooth in a small, predetermined bag and tucked it into a special inside pocket of his pack. 
He left the bolt in the skull. It was part of him now. It seemed like a transgression to use it against anypony else. He also left the bolt that had struck the leg in the water. 
He wrapped the bones carefully and with precision before lifting them up onto his back. He carried the bones to their resting place - the grave he had dug earlier that day by the creek. He lowered the bones down inside and slowly, gently piled dirt upon them. Soon, the whole was filled. The changeling hunter lowered his pack and laid his weary back upon the fresh, cool dirt near the headstone that read ‘Elijah’.
> 4. Absalom Becomes...
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	That night, the changeling that had murdered ‘Elijah’ dreamt. First, he dreamt of a tear in his stomach that was syncopated with a feeling of falling - falling deeper into cold and into darkness. He dreamt that that his eyes bled and that his mouth was filled with grit. He found his feet stuck in a scorching sand that stretched on and on before a great pillar. Changelings - the assets, the runaways he’d retrieved, that he’d murdered - pulled themselves up from the scorching sand and screamed at him. Their shrill cries pierced the soundscape and cracked open the sky, which went the deep orange of fire then the dark red of blood.
The thralls, all alight and missing a front tooth - the tooth he’d pulled from them upon their retrieval… upon their murder - trembled and shook as the sand cracked and blistered their skin. They ran at him as his eyes bled, screaming… screaming. Their bodies dissolved to bone and then to dust as they neared him, as he felt the stinging hot sand dig into his hooves like claws and wrap their talons upon his bones. He tried to shut his eyes and shut his ears but could not.
The dust of the murdered now covered his face and his back. The residue sand that had engulfed them and dissolved them then caught in his eyes and in his mouth. He tried to spit or cough, but could not. He choked sand down and it settled and burned his stomach and his lungs. The wind howled with screams and kicked more sand into his face.
He began to move forward towards the pillar, weeping blood and leaving blood in the sand from his cracked hooves. He winched from the pain of pressing his raw hooves into the sand. More and more dead changelings, dead brothers, pulled themselves from the sand, crying and fleeing. Two walls of fire rose up from the skulls of the dead on either side of him. He walked towards the pillar, weeping and slobbering as the sand bombarded his face and the shrieks of the dead split his eardrums. Soon, the pillar began to fill with names - names of the dead, of the broken, the lost. Those he’d murdered, those murdered by other retrievers - the endless terrible changeling dead. 
Then the pillar too burst into flame and cracked. It splintered and fell in upon itself. Then the sand began to fall away, and the changeling that had murdered ‘Elijah’ and countless others fell again, into the sand. The legions of dead were packed underneath, and they screamed and clawed at him as he fell. The hot sand poured down after them as the changeling fell and as the dead pulled themselves up towards the surface. They arouse and he fell.
He felt his flesh rip away, then he hit rock and tumbled down a mountainside towards brimstone. The steep cliffs dropped off and he hit a murky, black water that ran thick as if it had been diluted with tar. The water burned into his raw flesh - the lacerations he bore from the sand and the rock stung. He pulled his head up from the thick water and saw the swamp. More changelings were there, screaming and clawing at each other for air and for small clusters of land that sprang up. He felt himself get pulled down then forward, like a current was picking up. He clawed his way to the surface again, and he saw a great circular precipice to a pit. In the distance, he saw a river of blood and a river of tears each fall on the far side of the pit, mixing with the river of tar he found himself in.
He struggled for land, but it proved useless. He was thrown into the deep pit where the three rivers mixed. As he fell, he saw the cavernous roof before him crack open and the scorching sand above poured in. The pillar with the names of the murdered and the skulls buried inside of it fell in after him. He turned and saw the bottom. There, the three rivers froze and he saw, buried in the ice, himself.
The changeling that had murdered ‘Elijah’ woke screaming.
He struggled to catch his breath. He felt the cold dirt beneath and listened for the calm flow of the river and the chirping of morning birds. He pulled himself up. His shoulder ached from where he had slept and his eyes stung when he turned to stare up at the sunlight gleaming in from the cracks in the canopy. He stood there for a moment, panting. He wiped dirt from his face and looked for his pack. He found it leaning against the headstone that marked the grave of ‘Elijah’. He opened it and checked for his equipment. It was there. He checked for the bag that held his former bounty’s took. It was there also.
The changeling stared at the headstone awhile. He admired the craftsmanship. It was made with care and precision - two words that did not describe his retrieval… his murder of ‘Elijah’. He swallowed and hoped such would not lead to his decommission… no… to his death. The thought of death wrapped around him like a pale shroud and he shivered as he felt the winds change. The leaves rustled and dirt blew over the headstone that read ‘Elijah’.
The changeling collected his pack and, forgetting to change into a skin, started to follow the river out of the forest. He traveled with heavy thoughts until his ears caught a buzzing. He stopped.
To his right lay a broken beehive that had split when it fell from the tree. He watched as ten hornets attacked the exposed beehive. The hornets were at least ten times larger and ten times out numbered by the honey bees that buzzed around their broken home violently. One by one, the hornets, unaffected by the stings of the bees that crawled around them, grasped a bee with their front limbs and tore their head off. The headless carcasses of bee drones littered the grass and the outside shell of the broken beehive. It was a mass grave, a genocide - violence one such a scale. 
The changeling's heart broke and his mouth hung open as he watched. More and more bee drones threw themselves at the hornets and the hornets carefully grabbed them and ripped their heads off, one by one. A few of the hornets made a run for the hive. Some were ineffectually swarmed by drones and they simply lifted themselves into the air and began their calm decapitations. Some made it inside. There, he saw the hornets dig into the honeycombs and feast upon the larva, ripping their heads off and tearing into them. 
There, inside, he saw the queen bee doing nothing. She sat there with her antennae folding and flapping around, surveying the area, watching the carnage. She watched her drones, her children, be torn apart be the hornets. A headless bee carcass fell and hit her head. She shuffled a little, but did nothing else. She did nothing as two hornets dropped and tore into her young. She did nothing as five hornets above her tore into her dwindling drones, savaging them and murdering them. She did nothing but wave her antennae casually up until the moment three hornets landed on her and tore her to pieces.      
Horror struck him. Horror filled his head, his eyes, his lungs, his heart… his soul. Horror dried his mouth, buried itself in his eyes and tightened its grip on his throat. Horror wrapped itself around his guts with cruel fingers and horror tore into his knees and feet. His hind legs buckled and he sat down. For the first time in his life, Absalom wept.
> 5. Epilogue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“IMPOSSIBLE,” the queen hissed as she threw the retrieval bag back at ‘Joshua’s face, “‘Absalom’ can’t be dead, are you kidding me!? We can’t a rogue asset running around causing trouble in Equestria with the wedding only weeks away. Do you know how long I’ve been planning this!?”
Meetings with Queen Chrysalis were rarely pleasant. ‘Joshua’ had dreaded the trip ever since he’d found the bag with ‘Absalom’s tooth on his doorstep. The queen was loud, and her voice rung in the cave and hurt his ears. She was up on her throne doing nothing, as always. A few drones stood guard on the steps that lead to her chair, but, other than that, the cave was empty. Much had been moved and many had been scattered and waited for her grand attack on Equestria.
“…An unfortunate turn of events, Your Grace,” he said, choosing his words very, very carefully, “But his… ‘Absalom’s unfortunate early ending was caused by the rogue asset ‘Elijah’ - a former retriever. With your permission, I’d like to take two additional retrievers and hunt for him.”
“Two retrievers!? And you!?” the queen barked, “And what if he kills the lot of you, did you consider that for even a minute, you utter fool!?” The queen smacked her hoof upon her forehead with impotent annoyance. “Argh! Why do I ever bother feeding the worthless pack of you?”
“Y-Your Grace, if I may-“
“Shut your incompetent mouth for a minute and let me think!” She pressed the same hoof to her chin and slouched on her throne. Indignity burst in ‘Joshua’s stomach and filled his guts with heat, but he did not move and did not speak. The queen had a temper and was utterly, foolishly full of herself. Still, she wasn’t above killing drones and replacing them if they annoyed her. To him, she was a spoiled filly given power. He longed for his cabin. 
“This ‘Elijah’ - will he interfere with my plans!?” she demanded.
“…No. ‘Elijah’ hasn’t revealed himself a changeling nor given the ponies of Equestria any reason to suspect your great plan.” None of the changelings ever revealed themselves as changelings because none of them had ever been that stupid. They weren’t plotting against her or a threat to her - though she’d convinced herself over the years that anypony not directly under her control was against her. The changeling runaways, sadly, just wanted to live elsewhere. 
“As I said before, Your Grace, give me two good retrievers and I will snuff out this problem.”
“What makes you think you will succeed where ‘Absalom’ failed!? Hmmm!?”
“I have suspected that ‘Elijah’ lives out in the Everfree forest and that is the last place ‘Absalom’ went to look for him.” The truth was that ‘Absalom’ made a mess and chased ‘Elijah’ there. He was almost lucky that he was dead. The queen would’ve been furious at the scene, though none would suspect changelings, and had ‘Absalom’ decommissioned without hesitation. “The three of us could lock down the whole forest, cut ‘Elijah’ off from it section by section and kill him.”
Queen Chrysalis frowned and picked the rough edges of the rock that made up her throne. “Fine,” she sputtered, “But you have until the week before Shining Armor and Princess Cadenza’s wedding to get it done. I need everypony - and I mean everypony - ready. If you’d like to keep eating, I suggest you get the job done properly.”
‘Joshua’ bowed. “At once, Your Grace.” He turned to leave. Finally.
“And bring me ‘Elijah’s head!” the queen shouted after him, “I want to mount it on the wall and show every traitor the fate that awaits them!”
‘Joshua’ headed for the armory to select two retrievers. Still, all the way there, he had wondered just why it was that ‘Elijah’ had left the tooth. He wondered still how ‘Elijah’ knew who he was and how he lived there - he’d never interacted with him. The only one in Ponyville at the time of ‘Absalom’s murder who knew who ‘Joshua’ was and what ‘Joshua’ represented was ‘Absalom’ himself. He wondered why ‘Elijah’ hadn’t killed him and blinded the queen to that sector for a few weeks.
Then he stopped. A fraction of a thought wormed its way into his head. He thought that, perhaps, ‘Absalom’ wasn’t dead and that he had…
‘Joshua’ shook such a thought off as an impossibility. He had noted that ‘Absalom’ had begun to slip, but they took weeks before they ran. He shrugged and hoped he could kill ‘Elijah’ soon so he could go back to his cabin and away from the queen and her half-baked plans.