Chapter 01: How it Always Starts
On a red velvet sofa an unconscious changeling lay sprawled, one arm hanging off the front, a square glass bottle sitting next to his discarded helmet and just out of reach.
The changeling's sofa stood against one of the many storefronts lining the sidewalk, which ran the curve of Canterlot's Eastern Market Circle and connected the purple-roofed, alabaster buildings it gave access to. The buildings themselves served as the Market's walls, providing a clear-cut border for the area and a hub for the city's east-side population. Four large gaps, equally spaced along the buildings and sidewalk, further connected the Circle to four arterial streets that ran off into smaller, cobblestone-paved veins and capillaries. These old-but-pristine streets regularly channeled the city's lifeblood population through the Market Circle and the outlying city blocks, fostering commerce unlike any other Equestrian city. Every day the Market held a thriving crowd of well-dressed ponies visiting every shop in the Circle, under a clear blue sky if the pegasi permitted, to the street-musicians' skillful tunes.
Well, every day except this day.
On this day, hundreds of changelings made up the crowd, drifting plumes of smoke marred the sky, and the music was replaced by the invaders' gleeful raiding, a terrified pianist with his instrument, and distant shots and explosions from elsewhere in the city.
To the changeling on the velvet sofa, this was the song of victorious conquest. No longer would the hive starve for love. No longer would they be confined to their damp, acidic caves. No longer would they want for their most basic necessities! This song heralded their Golden Age, and his sloshed psyche thought it a most beautiful lullaby.
The changeling standing before him couldn't disagree more.
Mimic stood in front of her sergeant, frowning deeply. She looked behind herself, back into the Market Circle, at her raucous comrades in various states of dress, disguise, and intoxication. Hole-riddled hooves met massive display windows in glittering explosions of glass that glinted all across the cement sidewalks and cobblestone pavement in the mid-day sun. Pricey and priceless goods alike found themselves pulled from their defenseless stores and either consumed or paraded all around the Circle.
The changelings' cheering, laughter, and the pianist's ragtime catastrophe struck no pleasant chord in Mimic's ears. Her brethren were acting like pony foals on Hearth's Warming with a bit of sold-out concert thrown in, and she was not happy about it. Unlike them, she was following orders - she still had her combat disguise on and her wits about her.
Mimic's hoof curled around her sergeant's fallen bottle as she lifted it up to her hazy blue eyes for inspection. She observed its squarish design and read the signature black and white logo of Applejack Daniels'. Her fuzzy pupils circled the black, leftover cap band around its neck and traced the hairline fracture running through one side. Finally, she stared with disdain through the clear glass and at the air inside, noting the bottle's distinct lack of contents.
Mimic quietly 'hmph'ed before letting it clatter back to the ground.
Idiot, she silently chastised, ignoring the calamity surrounding her. First day out of the Hive and you disobey your own orders. We don't even havebreweries back home; allof us are lightweights. You downed an entire bottle of the best whiskey this country can offer when a thimble of it gets us tipsy.
Her eyes narrowed.
But you wouldn't know that, would you? she chided, her disgust growing. You're not a replacer. You're not a seducer. You're not even a harvester. No, you're an invader that sits on his flank all day in the hive. You sign papers. You've never even beento Equestria before.
She sighed. Mental note: check the promotion records next time I get the chance. Figure out how he's a sergeant.
Turning around, Mimic grumpily scanned the crowd in front of her. Before the mare thrashed a rampant sea of changelings - the Market Circle was flooded with them. Some were in combat form, some were in natural form, and some were so drunk they managed to mix them both. A precious few even had bits of pony thrown in. It was chaos to the point where the hive's best culling drones would have a hard time catching their target in this crowd, meaning a regular changeling might as well not even bother.
Mimic's stomach growled and she silently cursed her sister for refusing to wait by her side while she finished working. There hadn't been many changelings left in her survivor inspection line, and processing them had only taken ten minutes. And only one needed an escort to the culling station! Sure, they had agreed to meet up later to feed together, but now she was somewhere in this mess and Mimic was stuck looking for her.
A small white island, barely visible over the changelings, sat near the crowd's center. A whole pile of royal guards made up most of it, but there were also some civilians sprinkled in. And then there was the gray-coated earth pony banging out his impression of a train wreck on an upright piano. Mimic cursed her rigid ears – had she not been in her combat disguise, she could have folded them back at his caustic tune. She looked over the crowd, ignoring the buildings in the throes of pillage, knowing her sister wouldn't risk her appearance to actually join such chaos. Nor would she be in the bakeries, as such delicacies would harm her figure. Confectioneries even more so. The post office's internal bonfire especially.
Mimic quickly realized she would never find her target among the calamity like this. Her curved, black horn glowed a jagged light green as she charged a telepathic spell for their shared channel. Still idly gazing over the crowded Market, Mimic hoped she wasn't too drained to cast.
Because of their development in the same egg shell, Mimic and her sister possessed the unprecedented trait of sharing the same telepathic frequency. It got more complex than Mimic cared to understand, delving far deeper into antique medical texts than she had time for, but the end result was that if she broadcast a message on her channel quietly enough, her sister would hear it and their queen would ignore it. The signal wasn't particularly long range, being designed for hive-local communications, but it was more than enough for this Circle.
Mimic's horn lightly pulsed as she opened her side of the link.
'Seduct, it's Mimic, where are you?'
After fifteen seconds of silence and slowly rising displeasure, Mimic let the call drop and resigned to look for Seduct manually. Eyes once again scanning the buildings she picked out the only two locations her sister could be.
Limited to this area, the spa and the perfume shop were the only logical choices, so long as Seduct's interests hadn't changed over the last...
Mimic paused for a moment as realization struck her – aside from a brief, surprise reunion during chitin inspections half an hour ago, it had been four years since they last spoke. Even then, Mimic was busy examining the survivors and didn't have time to talk. The resulting conversation could hardly be called that, having consisted only of an agreement to meet up later and Seduct persuading Mimic to examine her twice.
The one-sided frown beneath Mimic's annoyed eyes made her frustration clear. I check her for cracks twice and she repays me by vanishing. I should've just sent her off the moment I was done the first time.
Mimic momentarily glanced upward in thought.
...or better yet, stuck her tail to the ground. That would've at least kept her in one spot, whining be damned. If I'm reported for a double-check there'll be a black mark on my record, and during our first military strike since the Obliteration? Unacceptable. Ugh, she knows how much reputation matters to replacers! ...unless she forgot her protocols in Manehattan, which if our time in the Hive is any indication, is more likely than it should be. A wonder that she made it through training...
The memory had faded over the years, but Mimic still recalled the morning Seduct was deployed to the big city. It wasn't a teary departure by any means, but the two mares did trade a few words before she left. Words wishing good luck and prosperity, words slaying the outbound mare's fears, and words hoping for a timely reunion.
And then four years passed without so much as a whisper from either.
Mimic grimaced at the thought and pushed it away. Once I find you we can fix that. Keywords being “find you”. I know you can hear me so why didn't you respond?
The perfume shop was closer so that would be Mimic's first stop. Looking to her right, she saw the small fragrance store just a few buildings down. Mimic only took one step towards it before two changelings flew out of the door and a third crashed through the display window and into the street, sending bits of glass tinkling across the cobble. Several nearby changelings stopped to watch the trio. A bright flash and a burst of short-lived flames lit up the store' interior, immediately followed by a rush of smoke pouring from both open portals. Hooves and liquor bottles flew into the air as everyone nearby erupted into cheers.
Cross that shop off the list.
Mimic's eyes narrowed again.
I think I'll check this entire company'spromotion records too.
Mimic turned away from the ruined perfume store and the three responsible for its combustion in favor of the spa across the Circle. She didn't think there would be any ponies left to actually operate it, but she doubted that was going to stop her sister given her fallback training with them. Grimacing at her rumbling belly and the maelstrom before her, she stepped off the sidewalk and began forcing her way through the inebriated changelings, ducking and dodging as necessary.
Not soon enough she broke through into the eye of the hurricane and stopped to catch her breath. In stark contrast to the audible storm just behind her, the only thing really moving in this area was the terrified pianist, whose gray hooves were flying across the keys. Mimic's ears flattened again. All of the other ponies were glued to the cobblestones by green changeling spit, while the pianist was bound to his piano by a rope firmly tied around his neck and one of the instrument's legs. Surrounding the ponies was, to Mimic's surprise, a perfect circle of armored changeling guards. They each sat about eight feet apart in silence as they dutifully watched over their catch. Surrounding them was a circle of air six feet thick. Though drunk, the partying changelings knew their bounds.
Finally! Mimic almost cheered. Changelings following orders!
Mimic circled the guards and looked at the ponies as she passed them by. Some of them were clearly upset, the younger ones mostly, but most of them just looked uncomfortable. It didn't take a foal to figure out why.
When Mimic neared the pianist she turned and walked up to the closest guard's side. She nudged his shoulder with her hoof and sat at attention while he turned to acknowledge her. Satisfied she was sober, he gave her his full attention.
“Can I pass?!” she shouted over the changelings behind her. “I want to talk to the pony on the piano!”
The guard sank in relief. “Yeah, that'd be great!” he shouted back. “We set this guy up to keep everyling complacent! Then we got orders to leave the ponies alone unless they try to escape! And then that idiot started doing this!” he waved a hoof towards the pianist. “Now we can't do anything about him!”
“Good thing I'm not under your orders then! I'll have this sorted out in a minute!”
Mimic stepped past the guard and strode over to the pianist. He sensed her presence and she saw it in the way he shifted away from her. She stopped and stood right next to him and let her vision burn into the side of his head. His eyes were practically pinpricks and he started trembling, mutilating the song even worse.
Three, two, one.
The changeling mare extended her left foreleg out to her side and horizontally windmilled it into the back of his head. The music crashed to a stop as the pony slammed face-first into the piano's casing. Mimic heard several guards - and ponies - audibly sigh in relief.
Mimic calmly lowered her hoof back to the ground as the pianist pulled himself back into position. He lightly held a hoof over his right eye and winced.
“Lower your hoof, pony!”
The wounded musician instantly dropped his arm to the ground and turned to face Mimic, revealing a slight bruise under his blue eye. Mimic's face contorted and she quickly whacked him across the jaw, spinning his head back towards the instrument.
“Look anywhere but this piano again,” she shouted over the noise, “and I'll gouge your eyes out! Got it?”
His ears instantly flattened at her words and he nodded, his shivers quickly resurfacing.
“Good! Now I need you to understand something! I don't like you! I don't like any of you, but I hate you in particular! Here you are, sitting with your piano, with the simple order to play some music to keep your fellow ponies complacent! You have it pretty good compared to your friends glued to the ground right there!”
Mimic inched closer so she didn't have to shout.
“So with the proper tool and the ability to use it, why can't you?
“Is it because you're scared?
“Worried that life might not be all concerts and parties with us around?”
“Afraid you won't have it so good anymore?”
Like he was staring into the sun his pupils shrank and struggled to stay straight as the changeling beside him leaned even closer, so close she could see the individual beads of sweat trickling across his face and smell his fear. Mimic's eyes narrowed, burrowing into his skull. She paused nary an inch from his head, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper.
“You've always had it good, haven't you?”
The gray-coated pianist didn't respond, frightened into silence. Venting her impatience, Mimic's black hoof clotheslined his throat and continued down until he slammed into the hard cobble. The stallion choked out a yelp when his head bounced against the ground and the rope around his neck almost pulled taught. Still unsatisfied Mimic adjusted herself so she was standing almost parallel to his body, watching him groan and clutch his head in pain.
“If you don't answer me in two seconds your eyes won't be the only two orbs you lose!”
He froze, and Mimic felt his hind leg brush against hers as he reflexively shifted at her threat.
“One!” she shouted at his face.
“I-I-I-NO!”
“Oh?! You haven't had it easy? You, resident of Canterlot, haven't thrown away food while we fight fang and hoof for just an ounce of our own?!”
“I-uh, I-I-I-”
“You live better than our own queen! You sit there and play your music and attend fancy concerts and put little dots on paper and not for an INSTANT do you ever have to worry!”
Mimic stomped a hoof down on his gut and crushed the air out of him. The stallion gasped and convulsed, scrabbling his hooves at Mimic's leg.
“Pony, up until this day your life has been nothing but whimsical concerns created by a naive society!” Mimic leaned down to his face, putting her nose hardly an inch from his. His struggling stopped and his wide eyes stared fearfully back into her own hazy blues as she bared all of her teeth.
“And you know what?” she growled, fangs gleaming. “I envy you for that.”
She looked up and ran her eyes across the rapt ponies before her and made eye contact with as many as she could before looking back down at the stallion underhoof.
“I envy all of you for that.”
After a few seconds of silence backed by the surrounding changelings' celebration, Mimic slowly stepped back from the gray stallion. She waited for him to climb back to his hooves, obviously rattled by the abuse. Through the corner of her eyes Mimic noticed that the guards, like the ponies, were riveted in place watching the event unfold. If this didn't keep their charge in line then nothing would.
I think we're done here, Mimic mused to herself. “Now go play your piano,” she ordered the pianist, “and stop butchering the music. Think you can handle that?”
He nodded sharply.
“Get to work.”
Nodding again he returned his hooves to the piano. Mimic watched him shudder through a deep breath before beginning to properly play another ragtime. Satisfied with his selection, she turned and walked back through the circle of relieved guards and rejoined the storm.
What I would give to just bash that pony's head in, Mimic idly thought as she escaped the mass of bodies again. The spa was just a few steps away. If we weren't so dependent on them for love, we wouldn't have to bother with captives. Could of just killed them all. The city's certainly high up enough to make that a simple... oh come on.
Mimic watched a plastered changeling stallion in orders-violating natural form push the spa door open, stumble through, and lean against it, holding it ajar. Due his reversion to natural form an unkempt mess of dark purple replaced the gray fin-like shred of a mane he'd originally arrived to Canterlot with. One of his unsteady hooves reached up and brushed some of its looser strands out of his eyes and behind two flat ears that all but matched the Queen's own. His natural tail had also abandoned its combat characteristics and copied its partnering mane's color and style. Finally, his eyes, with their black pupils and purple irises backed by the blue sclera both natural and combat forms shared, crossed as the left blinked before the right.
Leaning past him, Mimic saw several other stallions drunkenly milling or lying around the spa's waiting room, all of them totally smashed, several of them unconscious. She noticed exactly one bottle of Daniel's sitting in the center of the floor.
After a few seconds the doorway-changeling figured out how to focus his eyes and formed a lopsided smile just in time to lose his balance and fall on his face. Mimic just stared in contempt as he bent his neck to look up at her.
“Hhhhhey baby, you *hic* lookin' fer... fer sum the... of the good kinda times?” he slurred, light green blood leaking from his nose. His pelvis shifted in pathetic implication.
Mimic snorted and turned away from him.
“Aw honey I din' mean to *hic* scary you one... scary... scare you one! ...none!”
Mimic returned to the changelings behind her. Well she's definitely not in that cluster of citations. Leave it to her to wander off in the middle of sacking a city. Where in Tartarus did she go?
Mimic was at a loss for her sister's whereabouts. She couldn't force her to respond telepathically, and both of her potential locations were bust. Wandering through the crowd back to the sergeant's throne, Mimic blocked out her brethren and lost herself in thought again.
I'm going to claim one of the two story houses, she thought, glancing at Canterlot's upper terraces and the large homes above,once Canterlot is fully secured. Having two floors was nice, it separated the bedrooms from the rest of the place. Compass could have his drinking pals over and the noise wouldn't travel upstairs. Or vice versa. Mimic grinned evilly. Rose screamed for days after I trapped her in their attic, and Compass never heard a peep. Though I'm sure the gag helped too, Mimic quietly chuckled to herself. And the-
An image of Rose cut through Mimic's thoughts and her laughter caught in her throat. A light-green mare, her disheveled, maroon mane falling before her red eyes, lay at the bottom of a weathered steamer trunk. Rough rope kept her legs bound tightly together, the skin beneath rubbed raw from her incessant struggling. Scratches, cuts, and bruises marred her otherwise pristine coat, and a strip of cloth ran tightly through her mouth and into a knot behind her head, garbling her desperate pleas. The meager light shining up through the attic hatch behind Mimic cast her shadow long across the mare in the box. Rose lay in utter defeat, helpless and vulnerable, doomed to whatever fate Mimic chose to impose.
And yet for some reason, when she looked into the two eyes staring up at her, Mimic felt like she'd lost.
Even with strands of her mane in the way, Rose's eyes held an intensity Mimic had never seen before. Fury, hatred, fear, despair, and something else she couldn't identify all warred for control and turned simple red eyes into twin prophets of the apocalypse. Prophets looking straight at Mimic.
Never seen before, but she knew their feeling.
A violent shake of her head pulled Mimic from the memory.
No. No compromising thoughts allowed. The only road sympathy leads down is that of culling. Rose was an anomaly of which there will be no repeat.
Giving her head another, gentler shake, Mimic let the last of her guilt fade from her mind.
...where was I...? Right – two floors or not, it's gotta have a basement. Shoeshine's house had one, and Chrysaliswas it cozy.
She kicked a stray bottle away.Like my quarters at the hive, but twelve times bigger and with sensible geometry. Plenty of space to work.
Mimic stepped over an unconscious changeling.A small house with a big basement. A hunger pang made her wince again. And steady love rations. A basement and rations. If I could at least get those, then this day would be just per-“oof!”
Mimic's train of thought crashed into a wall as another changeling trotted into her. Her smile vanished as she stumbled to regain her balance. A lady's silken voice called out over the noise.
“Oh dear pardon me! I was just... ah, so there you are! I was... wondering where you'd gone!”
Mimic turned to her offender, her mare of the hour. There, in orders-defying natural form, stood her twin sister Seduct.
A lush cerulean mane, parting on the left, fell behind Seduct's natural ears in heavy, gorgeous locks that just grazed her shoulders. Her bangs were brushed as a whole just beneath her horn and across to one side before matching the rest of her mane in descent, except for a large tuft that curled down next to one of her confident green eyes. Seduct cared for her tail just as much as her mane and their equal beauty made it known, although much to her chagrin her tail still suffered from the changelings' trademark holes. And while those holes also marred her legs, the rest of her body remained immaculate. Seduct boasted a figure curving in all the right places and sought after by nearly every mare in the changeling species as the pinnacle of sexual attraction. The ogling eyes surrounding her, not quite exclusively male and not quite exclusively changeling, proved it. However it wasn't Seduct's radiance that caught Mimic's attention – it was her obvious apprehension.
Mimic may not have seen Seduct in four years, but having lived with her in the same hole in the wall for the seventeen prior meant she was pretty good at analyzing her sister's behavior. Seduct's pursed lips, rigid posture, and the pause in her earlier greeting left Mimic doubtful that Seduct more pressing matters on her mind than where Mimic had been.
What's she up to? Mimic wondered. Deciding to play along, she shouted over the noise.
“I've been looking for you, Seduct!”
“Well, here I am!”
Mimic rolled her eyes and tried to look over the crowd. “Come on, let's find someplace quieter!”
Mimic distastefully took stock of the ransacked souvenir shop she and her sister stood in. Seduct had immediately derailed the conversation ten minutes ago or so, and over that time Mimic's interest shifted to the building's trashed interior. The shelving lay in splinters, their merchandise absolutely littering the floor. Mimic had tried determining what percentage of the mess was wind-up royal guards, but theorizing how the cash register became lodged in the oak wall eventually became more entertaining. If only just.
Mimic sighed, glancing out of the miraculously intact display window.
Thank Chrysalis for small miracles, Mimic thought. I can hear myself think agai-
“...and just before I reached you, you meandered into the crowd and punched the pianist!”
Mimic snapped back to attention.
“Excuse me? I was looking for you the whole time.”
“You're supposed to stay in one place when lost in a market. If you hadn't wandered off in a fit of rage, I would have eventually made my way back to you.”
“You were the one who wandered off, not me!”
“Did I? My apologies, I was perusing the Market's selections,” Seduct replied, not bothering to salvage the argument. She looked past Mimic and through the display window, at the crowd of changelings. “Though as I'm sure you're aware, the place is a bit overwhelmed at the moment.”
Yes it is. Which means you're bored. “Yeah, I looked for you at the perfume shop and the spa, and you weren't at either. I guess not being at the perfume shop was a good thing since it exploded, but nonetheless.”
Seduct grew cross. “Yes, I witnessed that. The poor place never stood a chance. And the spa was full of drunken hooligans! Certainly no place for a mare to relax.”
Thus Plan C. “So where were you going back there?”
Mimic saw the sliver of apprehension return to her twin's eyes. “Oh I figured I'd just stretch my legs a bit.”
“Oh yeah? A quick walk around the Circle?” Yeah right.
“Yes. Avoiding the door parties, of course. I refuse to partake in such reckless behavior!”
“Of course.”
Seduct warily eyed her sister. “...well if that's all, I'll just be on my way then. We'll talk over some tea once this place settles down, does that sound good?” Seduct turned and trotted towards the door.
“If you were walking the perimeter, what were you doing out in the Market's center?”
Seduct froze and her ears went flat.
Gotcha.
“I was... taking a detour. Really, it's no concern of yours, Mimic. Go have fun, do whatever it is you do in your spare time. Taxes or something.” She began trotting again and turned out onto the sidewalk.
“Seduct, where are you really going?” Mimic called over the crowd, while trotting up to her twin's right.
Seduct flashed a scowl. “Fine, if you must be so nosy, I'm going out on the town! It's not going to explore itself after all, and I fully intend to find and protect at least one spa in this city.”
“Hold it,” Mimic ordered, “you heard our major's orders, right? We're supposed to be guarding these ponies, whether the sergeants are conscious or not. The unicorns are still a threat since we can't do anything about their magic short of breaking their horns off, which is unthinkable, and there could be a counterattack at any time!”
Seduct groaned but ignored her sister's command. “Really, Mimic? You're the smart one, can you tell me how many guards are glued to the street over there?”
The duo reached the Market's edge and the entrance to one of its main roads. Seduct walked past the border guard, a gruff, older changeling who didn't even register her passing. Mimic whacked him on the shoulder and startled him out of his nap.
“Aren't you going to stop her? This is a direct violation of orders!”
The guard, having realized there wasn't an emergency, glanced after the departing mare while yawning, met Mimic's annoyed blue eyes with his identical, weathered pair, and took a few seconds to look her over. Only then did his gravelly voice kick in.
“Kid, the major's drunk off his hooves and I'm tired. Quite frankly I don't give a burrowing buck what she does,” he said, nodding his head after Seduct. “If anything she's got the right idea. Early bird gets the worm.”
Mimic's face scrunched up in anger.
“You are blatantly ignoring your orders! Don't think I'm not reporting this!”
The guard snorted. “To who? Did you miss the part where the major's drunk? And everyling else too? Heck, your sergeant is probably passed out on a sidewalk somewhere.” The guard looked to the chaos at his right and frowned. “At least I'm still wearing my war shell. They're all far worse off than I am. Go report them instead and go away. Sheesh.”
Mimic huffed at the guard before she turned and trotted after Seduct.
The Market and its rampant changelings were but a speck in the distance as the two sisters reached the end of the Market's arterial street, and it finally vanished when Seduct pulled a left at a cafe corner's charred awning. The street they entered now was almost entirely restaurants, most of them open-air but a few indoor ones popping up now and then. Mimic silently followed her sister, mood still smoldering, just as it had been since the border guard's defiance. Oddly enough, Seduct had been silent for the whole way as wel-
“We're out of sight now darling, you can drop your disguise.”
Ugh, should have seen that coming. Mimic glared at her sister, blue eyes and thin frown wordlessly displaying her refusal.
“Expected glance aside, there really isn't any point in keeping it applied further.”
Mimic snorted. “Oh, and disobey more orders? You've already gotten me two potential reprimands should I be reported. You can have the high score.”
“Same old Mimic,” Seduct smiled while gazing disinterestedly around the street. “Not a single change in these past four years! However that's not my point. You must know by now that your commanding officer has transcended reality on his velvet sofa, yes? Mine drank so much wine she forgot what pregnancy is, and, well, let's just say she's since plugged a few holes. And I don't mean the ones in her hooves.”
Mimic's brow furrowed. She knew Seduct's sergeant well, a mare named Clone – they'd been in the same replacement training courses back at the hive. They were academic rivals at the time and Mimic still held a lot of respect for her. To think she would degrade herself like that...
“The changeling military,” Seduct continued, “has devolved into a disorganized mess. It has been for centuries. You can't possibly report every currently misbehaving changeling. You would have to report half of the entire invasion force, and report it to itself. And knowing the Queen,” she lazily glanced at Mimic, “I'm sure even she has made a few personal exceptions.”
“Well, I'm not Clone, I'm not the entire invasion force, and I'm definitely not the Queen. I don't care if Chrysalis herself is passed out somewhere, I'm not going to revert and keep breaking orders just because everyling else is doing it.” Mimic smirked, confident in her victory.
The elder sister heavily sighed.
“Fine then.”
Mimic's confidence flinched at the tone of Seduct's voice.
“If you want real reasons, then I suggest you listen carefully. Are you ready?”
Mimic looked at her sister in mild surprise.
“Good. Now, am I correct in assuming that you're hungry? Don't answer that, I already know that everyling associated with this invasion is famished or close to it, even the latter waves. You and I were in a latter wave, and we walked multiple blocks multiple times for reconnaissance purposes before retiring to the Market. From what I heard you even captured a few of the guards back in the Market. Doing that required your use of magic.
“Now, recalling that our magic is dependent on our personal love stores, and that the combat disguise runs on magic, I'm sure you can put two and two together. While the combat disguise uses far less energy than our pony disguises because of its built-in nature, it does leech a small trickle of magic from our reserves. And until Canterlot is totally secured and the surviving ponies either submit to the Queen or are placed in cocoons, we will not be feeding sufficiently. And harvesting isn't an option if we want to keep this food source intact.”
Wide eyes were slowly replacing Mimic's confident ones. She actually knows this stuff?
“Even ignoring the energy drain, turning off your disguise won't pose an issue. It is native to the changeling repertoire; everyling has been able to use it in some capacity since their second birthday at the least. It can be reapplied nigh instantaneously during conflict should you need it because it is a natural defensive measure. I shouldn't need to explain the mechanics of that to you.
“And lastly, if you compare combat form and natural form, you will notice several things about their physical designs. The first and most obvious is that our chitin remains identical between forms, nullifying any real durability benefit. The second is our natural, moveable ears. The stiff tubules of our combat form are beneficial in fighting because of their use as effective, if somewhat brittle, short-range stabbing weapons to preserve our horns. But only in combat. In our current surveillance state, the ability to direct our ears towards a sound could determine whether or not we detect an ambush.”
Seduct finally turned her head to the disguised mare without breaking her stride, who shifted uncomfortably in her step as her sibling's rose eyes bored into her own.
“Therefore, as your older sister and experienced seducer, I strongly suggest you drop your combat disguise.”
Mimic slowed to a stop and watched as Seduct did the same. Seduct turned around to a changeling mare's incredulous face transitioning to one of deep conflict. Brows deeply angled and teeth clenched together behind a killer's frown, Mimic fruitlessly fought her sister's reasoning. No matter how she looked at it, the argument was bulletproof. Seduct's victory was absolute, and finding herself in checkmate, the younger changeling submitted.
In a flash of electric-green fire Mimic reverted to her natural form, undergoing her own set of personal changes. Short strands of dark cerulean shook around her head and across her eyes as Mimic gave herself a quick shake not unlike a dog shedding water. Strong muscles flexed beneath lightly scratched and grazed chitin as she shook, although the hard surface didn't let them show. Blinking, she absentmindedly tossed her neglected mane to the side with her shotgunned hoof, revealing her eyes' new sharply defined pupils and natural, green irises. Out of which, at her sister, and after her new natural ears went flat, she promptly resumed casting silent fury.
“Will you stop pestering me now?” Mimic asked, despite knowing the answer.
“Oh, Mimic!” Seduct began, needless drama oozing from behind a mouth-covering hoof. “This is dreadful! Your chitin, your mane, your tail...! I don't know where to start!”
“I have more important things to do than style my mane and spend hours buffing out tiny scratches. Like infiltrate pony couples and gather love. Or not have this conversation.”
“This goes far beyond poor manestyle! This is neglect! Abuse! When did you last take the time to properly care for yourself?”
“I wash regularly, if that's what you mean.”
“That's absolutely not what I mean. You clearly haven't been following basic pampering protocols.”
“I haven't been following protocols?! Look where we're standing!”
“Perhaps, but this is only today, a one-time occurrence. You, on the other hoof, have been neglecting the finer points of personal maintenance for far longer than just the last hour.”
Mimic's forced a scream back down her throat.
Breathe.
Taking in a huge breath, Mimic closed her eyes and held it in an attempt to calm down. Gently sitting down, Mimic shook her mane down again, then carefully pushed her bangs behind her ears and smoothed out the rest of her mane.
“That's the spirit.” Seduct chimed.
Mimic flashed a glare before exhaling a half-hearted “Whatever....”.
“Oh don't be so glum! We have a whole city to ourselves, it's high-time you relaxed and cared about yourself! Chrysalis knows you've been overworking yourself for the last few days with the invasion preparations. We can relax and catch up once we find a spa!” Seduct looked Mimic over again. “Well, you can relax, anyway. I clearly have a lot of work to do.”
Just ignore her, Mimic fumed,and maybe she'll get bored and want to go back.
Seduct waited a few seconds for Mimic's retort, and continued when she didn't get one.
“Well, I suppose silence is a step in the right direction.”
The pair continued on away from the Market Circle, walking down the ruined streets in the smoke-stained sunlight. Neither said a word, Mimic's head hunched bitterly while Seduct walked tall and proud to observe the broken sights and ashen smells. Together they traveled, passing the minutes by in their separate idle states, until the entrance to an unusually wide street caught the seducer's eye. Her pace picked up to a leisurely trot to reach the street corner first, and upon reaching it she stopped with an excited grin. Mimic caught up a few seconds later.
Radiating their polar emotions, the twins entered one of the East District's many destroyed artist and artisan streets. It was appropriately lined with galleries, theaters, artistic bakeries, and even a publishing-office-calligraphy-studio hybrid. Each building was two or even three stories tall, and all of them were ruined. The glass from their many display windows covered the road and sidewalks, venting the smoke drifting out of the eateries' back kitchens. Some front doors remained intact at the price of the building's upper windows. One of the taller galleries near the twins' end had caught fire and collapsed into the cobblestone street. The wreckage blocked the left lane and sidewalk with its charred rubble, and the publishing office across from it was still engulfed. The situation was almost tolerable to Mimic until Seduct opened her mouth.
“You know, you still haven't answered my question yet.”
It doesn't end. “Ninety three,” Mimic scowled as they walked the battle-scarred sidewalk and passed one of the smoking bakeries, “About eighteen point something percent of Celestia's royal guards.” She was never this insufferable before. What the buck happened to her in Manehattan?
“Ooh, really? That's more than I thought!” Seduct smiled giddily, looking around at the war-torn street around her.
I'll deal with her behavior later. “That still leaves eighty-two percent of them unsecured! If they rally togeth-”
Her voice caught in her throat as a thunderous boom rocked the city air, startling Mimic's membranous wings out from their shell as she spun towards the source. Off in the distance, Mimic watched the largest fireball she'd ever seen roar up next to the castle, and she felt a light wave of heat brush past her chitin. An equally massive plume of smoke billowed up from the explosion.
“Mmm, looks like the barracks aren't an issue anymore.”
Mimic whirled around to her sister, still on adrenaline's edge. Seduct had stopped and was smirking back at her.
“Sister, listen to me. I do think those eighty-two percent are a little indisposed at the moment. And I'd bet my tail a good number of the ponies in the barracks are indisposed permanently.” The calmer twin began walking again, propelling herself on three legs while holding the fourth up for inspection. “Oh I do hope I haven't chipped anything, these cobblestones are so rough...”
Aggravated, Mimic folded her wings away and continued after her. “I broke protocol and checked your chitin twice during inspection before you disappeared back at the Market, which is where we're supposed to be! How can you be so reckless!? We're invading a country and you're worried about a chipped hoof!?”
“I know you did sweetie,” her twin replied, skirting the gallery laying in the street and passing the burning publishing office. “And I thank you for it, but I can't help but worry until I can sit down and see for myself. Us seducers have to keep up appearances, you know.” Seduct trotted back onto the curb. “It's the foundation of our profession!”
Mimic ground her teeth at her sister's use of 'sweetie' as she followed her. She was only eight seconds younger, but Seduct was treating it like eight years. When we get back she's telling me allabout Manehattan. “You're fine. Now let's go.”
“I mean, by Chrysalis you've seen Allure's hooves, haven't you? The horror! We may not always be able to avoid these,” Seduct continued, glancing forlornly at the holes in her legs, “but we can at least try to keep our bodies operational! No seducer should have such a grotesque appearance!”
“Yes, I have seen Allure's legs. She won't be walking in a few years. She will be culled. End of Allure. Now let's go back before someling important notices we're gone!”
“I mean, who would want to sleep with someling with chitin like that?”
“You're in disguise when you do it so it doesn't even matter! Now lets go!” Mimic's patience teetered on the edge.
“Hmm... well, if you say so,” Seduct mumbled, abruptly stopping in front of a dead-end alleyway full of crates. Mimic's ears perked at her sister's submission as she halted, giving away her surprise.
“But it doesn't mean I can't try to keep myself presentable. Seducers have a terrible image because of the nature of our work. You're a replacer, so you're practically worshiped in society as the pinnacle of the species! But not everyling is as good as you. Being the lowly seducer I am, I must do my part in improving my caste's reputation.”
Mimic's eye twitched. Her mouth opened to retort but Seduct's perforated hoof shot up and pressed it shut.
“Sh sh sh, up ahead.”
She glowered furiously at Seduct, but fought back her words when she noticed the predatory gleam in her sister's eye. The hoof was gently pulled from her mouth and Seduct slowly sidestepped into the cluttered alley, never breaking her line of sight. Mimic stealthily followed.
“Can you see him? In front of that library?” the older changeling whispered through a wide grin, head just barely poking around the brick corner. “He just stumbled out of it.”
Mimic inched her head past the building's edge, below her sister's. Some forty feet away, a royal guard stood in plain sight amidst the rubble of a library's collapsed entrance, looking in the opposite direction. From its build it appeared to be male, and evidenced by the bad right wing hanging limply at his side, a pegasus too. Bent feathers stuck out at all the wrong angles, and Mimic could see a splotch of red staining the wing's center and dripping onto the ground. His helmet was also missing, letting his two-tone blue mane hang in a disheveled mess.
“Let's get him.”
Mimic quickly shifted back into the alley. “Are you insane?!” she shouted with hushed voice. “This has to be a trap! This is exactly why I said we should go back!”
Seduct slid back to face her sister, smile replaced with a frown. “Trap or no trap, I'm hungry,” she said as her grin returned while her tongue ran across her fangs. “And he looks delicious.”
Mimic watched with mounting concern at the cream-colored earth-pony mare standing just outside of the alley's entrance. She had a flowing, two-tone mane and tail of copper and gold, deep green eyes... and a shovel for a cutie mark. Mimic didn't understand that last detail, and it only strained her nerves further.
This isn't gonna work this isn't gonna work this is such a trap she's gonna get us killed sweet Chrysalis why did I agree to this I should have just said no I didsay no but she won't bucking listen-
A faint, masculine “Hello?” drifted down the street and into the alley.
The green-eyed mare turned and sauntered through the alley's entrance, giving the confused guard a sultry last glance and making sure he saw her raised tail before slipping from sight. She glanced up at the tall crate Mimic was hiding on and grinned.
“Tell me when,” Seduct whispered through her teeth. Mimic caught the strained undertone in her voice. She must be hungrier than I thought.
The younger changeling prepared herself, readying her weapon for the guard's intrusion. Her rectangular platform was almost as tall as an average pony, she was crouched low and back against the wooden wall behind her, and the taller crate to her left hid her from the street's view. When the time came, the guard would never know what hit him.
Provided my stomach shuts up, Mimic silently muttered, wincing as her stomach groaned for the umpteenth time. A house and food, that's all I want.
Soon the clip-clop of the guard's hooves reached the alley and came to a halt.
“Hello?” he called out again. Mimic promptly fired a telepathic broadcast to her sister, 'Now!'
At the back of the alley, Seduct wordlessly revealed herself to the stallion, slowly sauntering out from behind one of the alleyway's many crates. She turned away from him, reached her front hooves up to the wall, and pushed her hips backwards on spread hind legs to present her most private parts to the stallion. Turning her head she cast him a longing gaze, emphasizing her gently swishing, teasing tail and the prize it just barely hid. Mimic peeked around her crate-wall's corner at the guard. As mad as she was at Seduct and as terrible as she thought this plan was, she found herself stifling a giggle at the pegasus's very confused, very blushing face.
“Uh... miss?” he stepped forward. “Are you alright?”
Mimic swung into action and smashed her two-by-four over his head with a small grunt. She felt the thud reverberate through her hooves, and like a sack of potatoes the guard slumped to the ground.
The moment he fell, Seduct exploded into a ball of green fire and reverted to her natural form. Panting, she weakly returned to Mimic, who buzzed down from her crate, to claim her prize.
“And you said... it wouldn't work.” Seduct breathed. “Oh my, that... was difficult. ...I guess I'm... hungrier than... than I thought.”
“Which is precisely why this was a stupid idea and why we should have gone back to the circle place!” Mimic shouted. She looked down at the unconscious guard. “Well, you've got your meal. How exactly do you plan to feed on him now? He's in the middle of a war zone and you knocked him out; his love stores are definitely contaminated.”
“Oh you'll see~” Seduct airily replied, looking down at her prey while she caught her breath.
“Flip him on his back and help me drag him,” she stated plainly after a few seconds.
Mimic rolled her eyes before taking his closer foreleg in her hooves. On her sister's mark they both backed themselves down the alley, the guard's metal armor scraping along the cobblestone pathway. Mimic dropped her assigned limb.
“This is making a racket! We'll get caught for sure!”
Seduct groaned. “You are my sister Mimic, no? I could have sworn you possessed problem solving skills of some kind.” She looked at her fuming sibling. “Assuming that you're also too drained to levitate him, and ignoring the fact that we're alone and out of anyling's earshot... remove his armor. It will just interfere later anyway.
Soon the pieces of his golden plating were lying in a heap between two boxes, leaving his stark white body naked.
“Is that better?” Seduct's patience was wearing thin and her voice showed it.
“This is so stupid...” Mimic grumbled.
“I'll consider that a yes. Now be a dear and get his arm again.”
The two changelings finished pulling the guard to the end of the hallway and laid him spread eagle on his back. Mimic heard her counterpart begin hacking something up, and then the guard's left foreleg was quickly pasted to the ground by a green wad of spit.
Seduct glanced up at her. “Come now, he's not going to secure himself!”
Sighing in defeat, Mimic did as she was told and coughed up her own restraints, securing the guard's vulnerable state. She noticed his face begin to stir, a result of their spit's acidic odor. Changelings didn't mind it of course, but ponies always found it too strong, similar to freshly chopped onions. Spitting in a captive's face would wake them up just about immediately, or temporarily incapacitate them if they were resisting. It was a trick she'd learned back in training and it had saved her flank at least twice.
The guard cracked open his eyes, then instantly shot them wide when he saw two changeling females standing over him.
“Oh,” came lowly from his mouth.
“Mmm, you'll be saying that again in a few minutes,” Seduct grinned at him. “Though preferably with more gusto.” She licked her lips and the guard squirmed, who now noticed his restraints and their unbreakable bond.
“So, now what?” Mimic asked, still annoyed. “He's terrified. Did you forget that harvesting only works when they're unaware? Why do you think harvesters always work at night?” Mimic looked at her sister, annoyed. “If his love was damaged before, it's ruined now. You're not gonna get anything useful out of him.”
“Not with my mouth, maybe,” Seduct shot back.
Mimic stalled. She stared at her sister, and watched with mounting horror as Seduct's grin grew wider still, and that was all she needed to know.
She can't be serious.
A few more seconds passed while Mimic found her voice.
“You... you're... you're going to... in the middle of all this...” her hoof indicated the destruction outside, “...you're going to RUT HIM?!” In the corner of her eye she noticed the guard's head jerk in surprise.
“That is such a crude way to say it. Honestly! I prefer “couple”, or “feed”, or “mat-
“YOU ARE GOING TO RUT A ROYAL GUARD IN THE BACK OF AN ALLEY IN A CITY CURRENTLY UNDER SEIGE! ARE YOU SERIOUS?! ARE YOU ACTUALLY BUCKING SERIOUS?!”
Seduct's patience finally snapped. She dropped her calm facade and glared at Mimic.
“Yes. I am. I haven't eaten in days. What better place than right here?” She gestured at the surrounding alley. “It's secluded, everyling is back at the Market, and I have a meal lying right in front of me... who by the looks of it isn't entirely objected to his fate.” The guard blushed profusely as Seduct lewdly eyed his lower half. “So be a good girl and go stand guard outside the entrance. Please?”
Somewhere in Mimic's head a neuron burnt out, and once her slack jaw finished closing she found herself speaking calmly.
“...okay.”
Her older sister visibly relaxed. “Thank you. I'll be out in a few minutes.”
Mimic turned and distantly walked through the box-filled alleyway. Each step felt hollow to her, like something was missing, and it wasn't from the holes in her hooves. Maybe it was the mare that left for Manehattan four years ago.
I am about to stand outside of this alleyway and guard my sister while she screws that stallion for all the seed he's got.
Mimic struggled to grapple with the situation.
All it would take is for one observer to fly overhead to get us expelled from our castes.
With that realization she resigned herself to whatever demotion fate had in store.
And she says she's upset at being called a whorse.
Slowly, something registered in her head, and she paused at the exit.
“...hey, Seduct?” she called, turning her head a bit to reflect her voice off the brick wall.
A short groan met her ears, followed by “Yes, what is it?”
Mimic paused again.
“What happened to improving your reputation?”
Seduct went silent. Mimic quietly waited for her response.
“...as much as I detest what I am called by those not in the business of seduction,” Seduct began, a darker weight woven into her voice, “I can't always be the perfect model. My caste has its reputation for many reasons, primarily because seducers do not have the comfortable lives you replacers do. We aren't... good enough, I suppose, to replace a mare or stallion for extended periods of time. All we do is foster meaningless sex between ourselves and ponies too hammered, horny, or horrible to care who we are, so deception is not part of our skill set. You could tell I was nervous back in the market – a common occurrence for a seducer, but an unacceptable slip to you.
“We seducers must do what it takes to stay fed, and sometimes we must do vile, abhorrent things for our food. You and I haven't seen each other in the last few years due to our respective deployments, so I expect you're seeing this as a critically low point for me. Perish the thought - Manehattan is a cruel city, and I assure you I have fallen far lower than this.
A heavy silence fell over the alleyway, like the war had ended and the only living creatures left on the mountain were the two sisters and their helpless guard.
“Is that all?” Seduct called, breaking the silence and letting the distant sounds of battle continue.
“...yeah, that's all.”
Mimic turned the corner and sat down.
Six minutes had passed since Mimic took up guarding the alley's entrance, and over that time her wits had come back to her. She could sense the guard's lust, a far less potent but still edible version of love, faintly radiating against her back. She ignored it.
This could have waited, she thought, the occasional moan escaping the alley. There is a large pile of presumably virile males sitting back at the Market. She could have had an orgy for all anyling cared. This did not have to happen here or now.
Mimic looked at the short wall of boxes she had blocked the alley with, her frown full of disgust.
When she's done, I am going to drag her rightback to the marketplace, and I am going to knockmy sergeant out of his stupor, and I am going to report this blatant violation so hard she'll be on hatchling duty for the next year.Being a seducer may be hard, but she said it herself: seducers are those not cut out for replacement. Logically, replacers have it harder. Let her try perfectly imitating a shoe salespony's porky baker wife for four months. Let her try to keep Compass's wily Rose locked up! She escaped every other week and the replacement instructors were notkidding about earth ponies' physical prowess.
The younger changeling closed her eyes, breathed in deep and held it for a moment, then slowly exhaled in an effort to calm herself. She returned to watching the burning publishing office across the street and two doors down right. Even at this distance the heat reached and warmed her chitin. Flames leaped from the second and third floor windows and licked at the charred walls as smoke billowed out above each miniature inferno. A loud snap caught more of her attention, and her ears folded back as the entire third floor caved into the second, sending a WHOOSH of ashen paper and hundreds of sparks shooting from the windows. Burning chunks of building clattered to the cobblestone below and Mimic could hear the tinkling of glass as the remaining windows blew out. It was eerily calming to watch such unbridled power released, turning in mere hours what had taken months to build into a black stain on the ground.
Mimic filtered out the lovemaking from her sister and the guard, and begrudgingly contented herself with the fire. Yawning, her exhaustion began catching up with her. Small aches were making themselves known in her legs, and her back let out a series of cracks as she stretched. When she opened her eyes again, Mimic noticed a speck of white in the right corner of her vision. Turning, she saw a bright light shining from one of Canterlot Castle's windows.
What in Tartarus is that?
She shook her head, sure she was imagining things, and returned her gaze to the castle only to find that the light still remained. Squinting, she could just make out an intense white beacon in the castle window, part of a hall of some sort. She could see a tall black figure, ant-sized from so far away, standing on a balcony connected to the hall. Recognizing it as her queen, Mimic cautiously stepped off the curb and into the middle of the street, eyes never leaving their target. She stopped and squinted again for a better picture. It was in fact her queen, and she seemed completely oblivious to the growing light behind her.
Apprehension welled in Mimic's stomach. There was something wrong. There was something terribly wrong. Heeding her wringing gut, Mimic charged her telepathy spell and opened the link just in time for the queen to notice the white light and turn around. The spell fizzled out as the changeling in the street below watched her beloved queen jump against the railing in surprise. And then the castle exploded.
Mimic's jaw went slack for the second time that day as a gargantuan pink shockwave radiated out of the castle's walls. She watched in horror as it blasted the changeling queen out of the balcony and into the sky, and she watched as it slammed into all of her airborne brethren and tore the rest from the ground. The wall phased through nearly everything, apparently only affecting changelings and spit-laden rubble, and the way it twisted their bodies looked... painful.
Her heart leaped into her throat when she realized she stood in its path, and the ensuing adrenaline kick spun her to the alley's entrance.
“...Seduct?! Seduct!! The cas-
...ugh, whuh?
Mimic's eyes flew open, coming back to reality after the pink explosion. Stinging wind rushed past her face, bringing tears to her eyes and forcing them shut again. She hurtled violently through the air, completely out of control, the concept of direction suddenly foreign to her. Mimic instinctively spread her membranous wings, screamed, and promptly pulled them closed again as the wind threw a thousand invisible razorblades through the left one, the result of its freshly crushed membrane. Then she flailed her legs in a futile attempt to correct her flight path, immediately stopping when her back left leg blew up into agony. Something warm was leaking inside her mouth and it tasted like blood, her whole left side was pulsating, and her stomach's tumbling was making her increasingly nauseous.
Something's wrong with my wing! I'm falling! I can't see where I'm going! I think my leg's broken! My head hurts! I'm falling! I'm falling!Oh Chrysalis I'm going to die!
Fighting the pain Mimic cracked her eyes open again, exposing the fragile orbs to the wind's stinging assault a second time. She noticed the color green becoming dirtier as it flashed by, imperfections of trees and rocks and natural formations beginning to mar the canvas.
In a final desperate attempt to control her descent she flared out her intact wing. Disregarding the electric jolt as the flimsy membrane almost tore from its socket, the switch from messy tumble to straight plummet was a marginal improvement at best. All it did was sort of assist in stabilization – actually slowing herself was impossible. Changeling wings were meant to buzz fast, not travel fast.
This is it. I can't stop. I'm going to hit the ground and shatter into a million pieces.
Her plummeting dive brought the ground nearer.
All I wanted was a safe home and love to eat.
And nearer.
No threat of discovery or days of hunger in between.
And nearer still.
Is my sanity too much to ask?
She could see buildings.
I hope you drownin that cocoon, Celesti-
Mimic could make out individual roofs now. Her eyes widened a little.
...is that a town?
It was hard to see through the wind, but that was definitely a town. One thatch roof in particular stood out from the rest, its position constant as the others spread underneath.
Am I going to hit a house?
Faster and faster the straw approached, growing larger every second.
I'm going to hit a house.
She squeezed her eyes shut again and clenched her teeth, then twisted herself backwards to face the sky before pulling her wing back in, bracing for the day's second impact.
Chrysalis help me.
The sharp crack of a roof's splintering wood echoed though the air, bouncing off the shuttered windows and doors of the town's fortified residents. Small bits of straw puffed up from the roof's breach and lazily drifted back down. Baseball and basketball-sized chunks of marble, stone, and a myriad of other materials also hailing from Canterlot quickly followed suite, punching through a number of other thatch roofs and smashing random targets in the streets and outlying fields. Unless their own house was hit, the huddling ponies remained blissfully safe from it all. And until they received the princesses' all clear, they dared not venture outside.
A few hours later the squad of pegasi determining the damage quickly realized its extent and just as quickly abandoned their plan to examine every roof. Instead they opted to just fly over the entire town with a map and mark the damage they could clearly see.
Evening sun isn't the best sun to see in. Everything gains an orange hue and shadows become darker and more pronounced. Unlike when the sun is directly overhead, it's difficult to see to the bottom of a hole. Like the many dotting the roofs of Ponyville. The result?
Nobody noticed the unconscious black figure lying in its own green blood beneath one such hole. Nobody noticed its broken leg or ruined wing. Nobody noticed its cracked horn, or its snapped elytron, or its shallow breaths as its body struggled to stay alive.
Nobody noticed the creature in the attic.
