Abruption

by TracTix

Rating: teen
Tags: Tragedy, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Changelings
Length: 4961

As the pressure builds and the danger mounts, a changeling must contend with both his disgruntled comrades and a cunning adversary.

At the height of the Infestation, Corvus and his fellow changelings are on a typical operation amongst the ponies. Their numbers guarantee their security. But there is discontent from the other changelings, and when a cunning adversary steps into the fray, Corvus finds himself in a very precarious situation.

Written for the Changeling Panic group story contest.

Special thanks to Otaku396 for assisting and collaborating on this story.

Changeling vector by DewlShock on Deviantart

Published 2013-10-31 23:30:02 UTC
Last updated 2013-10-31 23:30:02 UTC

I.

“Thanks, mister!”

Clinging onto their bags of candy, the two fillies waved goodbye to Corvus as they left. They rejoined a gruff-looking stallion who had waited on the sidewalk. Corvus waved back from inside his doorway.

“Have a good night, you two.”

He glanced at the clock on the wall beside him. The short hand pointed towards ten, the longer one somewhere between three and four. All the colts and fillies must be heading back home right now with their parents. Those two fillies were probably the last visitors Corvus would have tonight.

A little regretfully, Corvus closed the door, a soft click resounding as he turned the deadbolt. Then he hustled over to his window and yanked on the cord of the blinds. A white sheet descended, blocking the view of the street outside. Corvus did the same for the other windows around him. The ones upstairs, he had taken care of already.

He did a final check of his house. Satisfied that everything was in place, he closed his eyes for a brief moment, and, with a flash of greenish light, uncloaked.

Corvus raised a hoof, relishing the look of his smooth, black, holed hoof; his real hoof, not some weird hairy disguise. His cloak did a fine job of letting him blend in among the ponies, but it was also a constant reminder of him being the minority in this place. It felt good to exist in his true form for a little bit.

“Breaking the rules again, eh?”

Corvus whirled around. A reddish-brown pony stood at the base of his staircase, glaring at him. But instead of running for cover or attacking the pony, Corvus simply gave a loud sigh and glared back.

“For Queen’s sake, Sicarius, stop doing that! That’s the second time this week!”

The pony – what looked like a pony – raised an eyebrow. “Is it? I’d expect you to be a little less surprised, then.”

“Everyone knows how great you are at getting past locked doors and windows and whatnot. But if we wanted a demonstration, we’d ask for it,” said Corvus. “At least save it for when we really need it, okay?”

Sicarius shrugged. He pointed a hoof at Corvus.

“You’re uncloaked,” he said, a bit redundantly.

Corvus frowned. “I know we’re supposed to stay in character all the time, but...just this one time. I need to see something that’s normal for once.” He examined one of his hooves for emphasis.

Sicarius shook his head disapprovingly.

“I get that urge too sometimes, but do you see me walking around uncloaked? What if a pony decided to peek in at this very moment? What would you do then?”

Corvus motioned at the windows. “Didn’t you see the blinds?”

“I did,” Sicarius replied. “And I also know that blinds only half-conceal bright flashes of light, like when you uncloak…” He trailed off, letting Corvus finish the thought.

Corvus surrendered. “All right, all right. I’ll cloak as soon as I can.”

“In a concealed location?” Sicarius asked.

“Yes, in a concealed location,” Corvus said.

Sicarius nodded in approval, but the other changeling wasn’t finished yet. “There’s also something else I need to talk about with you.”

Corvus let himself fall onto his sofa. “Okay. Go on.”

“Well…” Sicarius paused, biting his lip a little. Then he sat down as well as he began to talk.

“Look, Corvus, I don’t know how to put this gently, so I’m just going to be honest. Queen Evora is starting to have – ahem – doubts about you.”

“Doubts?” Corvus felt a trace of fear shoot through him. “For what reason?”

“She’s beginning to think you’re a liability to the operation,” Sicarius said. “You’ve ‘made too many mistakes’, according to her. Like, for example, being uncloaked right now.”

Corvus felt his face grow hot.

“Being uncloaked pales in comparison to what she complained about, though,” Sicarius went on.

“What…what did she complain about?”

Sicarius gave Corvus an unimpressed look. “Acting oblivious isn’t helping your cause. You know well and clear what her concerns were over.”

Corvus rubbed the back of his neck.

“I thought I already explained this to you and Evora and Acrisius! It’s not my fault that pony survived! Some other pony was protecting them that night.”

“And the others?” Sicarius challenged. “What happened the night after that, and the night after that?”

Corvus couldn’t find an answer that didn’t sound like a weak excuse. His silence did the talking for him.

Sicarius leaned forward.

“Corvus, you may find it harder to kill as easily as the rest of us. At least you’ve tried to do it. I can’t take away credit there. But if you keep on like this, something’s bound to go wrong eventually. We’re only as strong as our weakest link, Corvus. And right now, that link is you.”

Sicarius stood up. Corvus stayed where he was, fascinated by a scratch in the wall.

“It’s your choice,” Sicarius said. “Start doing more for the Hive, or continue putting all of us at risk.”

He walked to the staircase.

“I’ll see myself out.”

Sicarius strode up the stairs, disappearing from Corvus’s view. He heard the sound of a window being slid open. After a few seconds, a dull thump came from outside, probably from the other changeling landing on the ground.

Silence returned to the house.

Corvus stayed on the sofa for a few more minutes. Then, after deciding that stewing in his displeasure was doing nothing, he forced himself up and onto his hooves.

Was Sicarius right? Was he a ‘liability’ for the entire group? It was true that he found it harder to take the lives of ponies, but that was more due to attitude than an actual incapability.

He just didn’t see the point in killing the ponies. Yes, some of them were pretty big threats to the changelings, and for those ponies, Corvus had no qualms about seeing them dead. They would, after all, do the same thing to him and his comrades if they discovered them.

But for the typical ponies? The ones who simply tried to get by, wishing their lives would maintain a semblance of normality? Those were the ones Corvus didn’t wish to harm. In his eyes, they did nothing to deserve the swift death by neurotoxin changeling fangs deliver, other than being born a pony.

Corvus marched up the stairs.

Yes, that was where the issue lay. Had he been ordered to eliminate more important ponies – say, the town’s Mayor West – he would have done so without any regret. But those targets usually had plenty of defenses against would-be attackers. Reinforced doors, barred windows, and even bodyguards would be protecting them. As a result, only changelings like Sicarius got to go after important targets – leaving the normal, hapless ones to the likes of Corvus.

Corvus reached the top of the stairs. Turning left, he entered what ponies called a ‘bedroom’, appropriately named after the bed that took up half the space inside it.

Corvus squeezed into the room’s closet, sliding the door shut behind him. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness. Then he shut them completely as green light flashed, and adopted his pony disguise once again.

He exited the closet, eyeing the bed with reluctance. Even after multiple nights hiding among the ponies, Corvus still found the bed odd and uncomfortable. Its fabric and textures were completely alien to him. Corvus greatly preferred sleeping in a cocoon that molded around his body and contained nutrient-rich fluids for his body to absorb overnight. But those were out of the question here. So, he had to make do with the bed.

Corvus settled in, trying to make himself as comfortable as possible underneath the quilt. Closing his eyes, he let sleep wash over him.

II.

Corvus awoke to the blinds of his bedroom window painted orange by the sun. A glance at his clock told him that it was eight twenty-three, a pleasant surprise for Corvus. Most of the time, the awkward feeling of the bed would be too much for him, and he would get up at six or five in the morning.

He flung the quilt off of himself. Setting four hooves on the ground, he made his way to the bathroom. The image of a turquoise stallion looked back at him in the mirror. A clump of his mane stuck up, stubbornly defying gravity. He redirected his cloak to smooth out the patch of hair. That was one benefit of the cloak, at least.

Corvus trekked downstairs, steeling himself for what, in his opinion, was one of the most disgusting moments of his day: eating pony food. It was necessary to keep up the illusion of being a pony, according to the Queen, but Corvus hated it nonetheless. At least the other changelings were in the same boat as him.

Today, however, he opened the refrigerator to find that it was completely empty, save for an apple and a bundle of hay. It was only enough for the morning, and certainly not for the rest of the day. He would have to buy some more food later.

Corvus forced the tasteless meal down his throat, rinsing out the taste with some water. He dumped his plate and his glass into the sink, slung a saddle bag over his back – something he genuinely wished existed back home at the Hive – and left his house.

Outside the concealment of his home, Corvus adopted the standard protocol for changelings in hiding. He plastered a smile on his face, relaxed his gait, and greeted as many ponies as he could with a friendly wave.

“Hello, Lily! Nice mane today, Dart! Good to see you, Kit!”

Not every pony returned his pleasantness; one pony in particular, Rook, glared at Corvus and remained silent when he greeted him. But the others replied with the same friendliness as Corvus, and, in the process, allowed him to feed off the positive energy surrounding them. This was Corvus’s real breakfast.

He arrived at the market. Going through the same routine with the vendors, he bought his groceries for the week. Corvus didn’t really care what he bought; everything tasted the same to him in the end. He did, however, make sure to buy some eggs. For him, eggs were one of the few tolerable items of pony cuisine.

Corvus was paying the last vendor when he noticed an odd-looking pony in his peripheral vision. Physically, the stallion was completely ordinary: black coat, blue mane, and what the ponies called a ‘cutie mark’ on his flank. But he was also gazing intently in Corvus’s direction.

When Corvus turned his head to get a better look at the pony, the stallion quickly averted his eyes and began talking with a vendor selling hay bundles.

“Here’s your change, sir,” Corvus’s vendor said. Corvus returned his attention to her. The mare slid two gold discs across the stall.

“Ah, thank you.” The cloaked changeling took the coins and dropped them into his saddlebag. He looked back at where the black pony had been, but he had vanished. Corvus rotated his head, doing a slow scan of the stalls and crowd around him.

There! A tuft of blue poked out ahead of Corvus. He forced his way through the crowd, fervently apologizing to the ponies he had to squeeze or push past. A gap in the stream of ponies allowed Corvus to better see his target. The black stallion was turning left into an alleyway.

Corvus was about to continue forward until a hoof grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. His protests were cut short by the familiar sight of Acrisius, whose cloaked form had an orange coat.

“Argos!” Corvus said, using Acrisius’s adopted pony name. “What are you doing? I’m busy right –”

“It’s for her!” Acrisius interrupted. The other changeling shoved a piece of paper into Corvus’s saddlebag before he could react.

“Read it at home!” Acrisius said. Then he left without another word.

Corvus tried to say something, to ask what this was all about, but Acrisius had already disappeared into the crowd. He looked back at the alleyway the black stallion had gone into. It was empty. Corvus had lost him.

Dejected, Corvus left the market and began the walk home. He pushed open the door, closed it, and immediately dropped his saddlebag onto the floor. He rustled through it, pushing aside groceries, until he found the paper Acrisius had given him. After flattening out the creases, Corvus read the words written on it:

6 Sunset Street

Tonight

Last chance

– E.

A job. Corvus found it hard to believe that, after Sicarius’s message the previous night, he had been assigned another target to eliminate. He didn’t even want it. His nerves were already frayed from the incident in the market.

But the note had said ‘Last chance’. Unless he wanted to completely lose all credibility, Corvus would have to go to 6 Sunset Street tonight and kill the unfortunate pony there.

He left at nine fifteen, slipping quietly out of his home. Corvus shivered as the night air bit into him. These northern countries were always deathly cold at the beginning and end of the year. And while Corvus had heard about ponies magically controlling their weather, he hadn’t heard about them controlling the temperatures.

According to the map of the town he had studied, Sunset Street was about two blocks from his house. It was a walk of fifteen minutes normally, but Corvus took considerably longer. The changeling had to make detours around the pools of light created by lampposts, and full-out stopped several times to let a pony or two pass by ahead of him. Corvus also looked behind him several times, just to make sure he wasn’t being followed.

He arrived at his destination without incident. 6 Sunset Street was a white two-storied house, one of the newer ones in the town. Corvus didn’t see any lights in the house. He crept across the lawn, eyes trained on the door, ready to bolt if it suddenly opened.

Corvus set his hoof on the door’s handle, inhaling deeply, preparing for the next few adrenaline-rushed minutes. Then he pushed down on the handle.

His hoof promptly stalled after moving three millimetres.

Corvus continued pushing, but the handle refused to budge. He pushed again and got the same result.

“Come on!” he hissed to himself. Cold sweat broke out on Corvus’s brow. He took a closer look at the lock. It was one of those new electric locks, the ones that needed a special card instead of a key. They were much stronger than the old ones Corvus was used to. Those were flimsy to the point of nonexistence, but this one would be considerably tougher to break.

He tried, though. Up and down the handle went, in its miniscule motion, a loud rattling sound coming from the lock as it fought Corvus’s attempts.

A light flicked on in the second story window of the house. Corvus looked at it with dread. Maybe he could get through the door in time…

Another light appeared. Corvus let go of the handle. It was too late. He had to get out of here before a pony spotted him, or worse.

Corvus dashed away from the house, putting as much distance as he could between him and the pony who lived there. He heard the door open behind him, and the target’s questioning call at the night. His target, who was still alive.

Corvus grimaced, a bitter taste in his mouth. He looked back at 6 Sunset Street – and was just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of a four-legged silhouette.

Was someone following him after all?

Corvus continued walking with his head forward as if nothing had happened. He strained his ears, trying to tell whether or not his pursuer had continued following him. Then he whirled around, hoping to catch the pony off-guard.

But, as far as he could tell, he was the only one outside.

When he reached his home, Corvus had never been more relieved to see it.

III.

The next morning, Corvus awoke to a storm of knocking on his door.

“Mmf? Go away,” he muttered to his pillow.

Whoever his visitor was, they were persistent. Corvus endured a minute of knocking before admitting defeat and going downstairs. He peeked out the little window to the side of the door, and at the fellow standing outside.

It was not someone he wanted to see.

“Corvus! You’re up,” Sicarius said, his voice muffled by the glass. He tilted his head at the door.

“Come on, open the door.”

Reluctantly, Corvus did as he was told.

“You look pretty tired,” Sicarius commented as he strode in. The door slammed behind him.

“I did just wake up,” Corvus said, a tone of wariness in his voice.

Sicarius nodded. “I understand. Rough night yesterday?”

Corvus lost it.

“Please, Sicarius, it wasn’t my fault,” he pleaded. “The pony had one of those new locks, the electric locks, and I couldn’t get past it, and then the pony woke up and was going to see me so I had to run!”

Sicarius didn’t say anything. The silence only served to amplify Corvus’s dread.

“Let me try again tonight,” Corvus offered. “I’ll finish the job, honest.”

Sicarius frowned.

“I’m sorry, Corvus, I really am. But it’s Queen Evora’s decision, not mine. And…well…she’s decided to ‘let you go’.”

Corvus’s stomach dropped. At the same time, he felt a growing sense of anger bubble up inside him. It was an odd experience, to be both angry and scared at the same time.

“Oh? You mean ‘evicted’?” he spat. “Kicked out of the Hive? Forced to leave everyone and everything I know behind?”

Sicarius had evidently prepared for this.

“Like I said, it’s not my call. I’m just the messenger,” he replied. “You’ve made too many errors, in Queen Evora’s opinion.”

“And what about your opinion?” Corvus challenged.

“My opinion?”

“Your opinion,” Corvus repeated. “Do you think I should be evicted? Hm?”

Sicarius didn’t answer his question.

“I have to go,” he said. Sicarius started for the door. Before he left, the other changeling uttered one last order.

“Don’t try to contact me, or Acrisius, or the Queen. As far as her orders are concerned, you’re just another outsider now. And don’t try to return to the Hive.”

With that, Sicarius turned his back to Corvus, and walked out of the house.

Corvus didn’t move. He simply watched the retreating figure of Sicarius, fighting the urge to run after and plead with him – or perhaps punch him.

He shut the door and slowly sank into his sofa, half-oblivious to what he was doing. The severity of the situation was just beginning to register.

No contact. No Hive. No home. Among the ranks of the Hive, he didn’t even exist anymore. Corvus had heard stories about evicted changelings, but never did he think he would someday become one of them.

What was he going to do? Could he join another hive? It was possible, but from what Corvus had been told, it came with its fair share of obstacles. You needed the other hive’s queen’s approval to switch, and once you did, there was no going back to your old hive.

I suppose I don’t have to worry about that last part, Corvus thought to himself mirthlessly.

But there was more to deal with besides the queen. A few changelings of Corvus’s Hive had originally come from others, and Corvus had seen how they were treated. Exclusion – quiet in some places, blatantly obvious in others – greeted them at every turn. Suspicion, too, if they had been evicted from their former hive. Evicted like Corvus.

Corvus stamped his hoof. He didn’t like the idea of joining another hive, but his only other options were to somehow reverse his eviction or – Queen forbid – continue living among the ponies on his own.

A sharp rapping from outside interrupted Corvus’s thoughts. He looked up, confused. Had Sicarius come back? Or was it another changeling – Acrisius, perhaps?

Corvus got up and reluctantly marched over to the door. He flung it open.

It was not Sicarius at the door. Nor was it Acrisius, or even Queen Evora. No, it was a black pony with a blue mane – the same pony that Corvus had seen yesterday at the market.

Behind the stallion stood two more ponies, their faces stoic. The black pony flashed something at Corvus’s face. It was a silver badge with the word ‘Detective’ stamped on it.

“Mr. Corbin? You’re under arrest.”

The interrogation room was something straight out of the past. Everything was made of wood – the long table that stood in the center of the room, the two chairs accompanying it, the three walls that didn’t have a window installed in them. Two potted plants flanked the doorway. It all gleamed under the single light bulb that hung from the ceiling.

Corvus cared for none of it. He had been sitting in one of the chairs for over an hour now, waiting for…whatever was going to come. The police hadn’t hoof-chained him, much to his surprise, though he did suppose locking the door easily made up for it. That, and one officer watching him from the hallway.

The changeling watched as said officer turned his head to the side and began talking to someone. Corvus couldn’t see who it was. The officer paused, said something else, and then moved towards the door.

The handle of the door rattled as it was unlocked. As it swung open, Corvus’s ears picked up a bit of the ponies’ conversation.

“…word back once I’m done here, alright? Great. Thanks again.”

The pony who walked in looked vaguely familiar to Corvus. It was another stallion, but this fellow was solid white with a blond mane. He looked like a photo negative of the detective who had arrested Corvus.

He brushed past the changeling and walked over to the chair at the other end of the table. The chair scraped on the floor as the pony pulled it back. He sat down.

Silence filled the air.

The pony stared at Corvus, his hoof lightly tapping the table. Corvus guessed that he was waiting for him to say something. Well, he wasn’t going to give the pony the pleasure of seeing that.

More tapping followed. The pony straightened up in his chair and leaned forward towards Corvus. His forelegs formed a diamond in front of him.

“Mr. Corbin, we both know well and clear why you’re here today. So let’s not waste any time, shall we?” the pony began.

“No, actually, I don’t,” Corvus replied. He injected a tone of anger into his voice. “How dare you and the other officers drag me out of my home and bring me here? Where’s your arrest warrant?”

“First, I am one of Her Majesty’s Royal Guards, not a police officer,” the pony shot back. “Second, suspected enemies of the state can be detained at any time, according to the Changeling Interception Act."

“Changeling Interception –”

“Your name is not Corbin,” the Guard interrupted. “Your true identity is Corvus, a changeling who is responsible for committing three assaults on citizens of Equestria. Last night, at nine fifty-four, you also attempted an assault on the pony of 6 Sunset Street. Correct so far?”

Corvus was too stunned to react. It was as if the pony had gone into his brain and read out loud all the secrets he kept in there.

He quickly recomposed himself.

“That’s outrageous,” he protested. “Who told you this? Somepony must be trying to slander me!”

The pony ignored Corvus. “You are also accompanied by a ‘Queen Evora’ and at least two other changelings, whose identities we are still working to find out. But we do know that they are responsible for the string of changeling-induced deaths that have popped up in the last month.”

He leaned back in his chair, observing Corvus, his hoof tapping away once again. Corvus refused to say anything.

Tap tap tap.

Corvus glanced at the door to his left. He could make a break for it. Would he be able to get through the door in time?

Tap tap tap.

No, the officer at the window was still there.

Tap tap tap.

The Guard leaned forward once again.

“Mr. Corvus, I know you want to keep denying these claims all the way to the noose. I know trying to get a proper confession out of you will be a waste of time. So instead, I will offer you a deal.”

“A deal?”

“More of a, shall we say, mutually beneficial arrangement. It’s very simple. All you have to do is give us the names of two residents of this town. We will then investigate them thoroughly. If they turn out to be the remaining two changelings, you will be cleared of all charges and released. If not, well, it’ll be the noose for you. I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Corvus slowly took in what the pony was saying.

“So…I have to give you two changelings, in order to be released?”

The Guard nodded. “Correct.”

Corvus grasped his head with his forehooves. His brain hurt. Too much had been revealed in the past ten minutes.

The Guard stood up and began walking towards the door.

“I won’t pressure you. You have until tonight to make up your mind. That gives you about –” he looked at the clock, “– six hours.”

He set his hoof on the handle, about to leave, but paused and turned his head towards Corvus.

“Oh, and you might want to get better blinds for your windows.”

With that, the Guard left, leaving Corvus to himself – and the burning embarrassment he felt.

Two hours later, Corvus paced his cell for the hundredth time. He didn’t notice, nor did he care. His mind was a storm of thought.

Sicarius was right. As much as Corvus hated to admit it, Sicarius had been right. In the end, he had been caught by the ponies after all!

Corvus seethed, imagining the smug looks Sicarius and the others would be giving him right now. He could hear their taunts and jabs, the mocking choruses of “Told you so!”

He plopped down on the cell’s bunk, a hoof furiously scratching the side of his head.

And, of course, there was the fact that they had evicted him, kicked him out of the Hive. He couldn’t even go back south to the Hive itself, lest Queen Evora had already sent word about his eviction. He had been simply discarded, like a piece of refuse.

The more he thought about it, the more Corvus’s anger grew. Why had he been evicted? Because he had failed to kill the pony in 6 Sunset Street. But did they care about the truth? Did they care that he couldn’t get through the lock? Did they care that he had tried? No, no, and no. All they saw was that he hadn’t met their standards. That was all they cared about.

He hadn’t even wanted to kill the random pony. He had said that from the start. The others – being the cold-blooded killers they were – didn’t care who they murdered. But Corvus did. And what did he get for it? Nothing but contempt at every turn.

“You think you can throw me away like trash, Evora?” Corvus growled to himself. “I’ll show you, and that smug Sicarius, and even Acrisius.”

He stormed over to the iron bars of the cell.

“Hey! Officer! Get that Royal Guard in here!” he shouted, pounding the bars with one hoof. “I’ve made up my mind!”

The door to the cell block opened and the gray head of a pony popped into view.

“All right, calm down there,” he ordered. “I’ll get the Guard right now.”

The officer disappeared for a minute, and then came back with the Guard in tow. The white stallion looked at Corvus calmly.

“You’ve made your decision?”

“Yes, I have,” Corvus said. “The deal sounds good. I’ll take it.”

“Excellent.” The Guard took out a pad of paper and a pencil. He slid them through the cell’s bars towards Corvus.

“One of them goes by Sickle,” Corvus said, scrawling the name out on the paper. He barely realized what he was doing. “His real name is Sicarius. The other one, Acrisius, goes by Argos. Both live in Lunar Heights, Sicarius at 241, Acrisius at 425.”

He finished writing and shoved the paper and pencil towards the Guard. The pony read it over, silently mouthing the words as he did.

“This looks promising,” the Guard said. He nodded at Corvus. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

Then he began walking away, the officer behind him.

“Wait!” Corvus cried after him. “Aren’t I free now?”

The Guard looked back at him.

“I said you’ll be released after we thoroughly investigate these two suspects,” the Guard said. “Until then, think about what you’ve just done.”

The two ponies disappeared from sight, the door to the cell block slamming shut behind them. The sound was dreadfully final.

Corvus sagged to the ground, his anger spent.

Think about what you’ve just done…

Without the red haze of anger, he realized it: nothing had changed for him. Nothing! He was still evicted, still alienated, still alone.

Except he now had the burden of knowing that he had sold out two changelings for petty revenge.

"What was I thinking?” he whispered.

Author's Note

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7cIrefaQWNU

Thank you for reading. Happy Halloween.