From as far back as he could remember, Hector Silvermane had been a trusting soul. He was no fool and he hadn’t landed a job as Shining Armor’s replacement by accident, but he believed in the ideal that ponies were generally good-natured creatures, who aside from a few exceptions, could be trusted to lead good lives under the Equestrian banner. It was a habit of his to want to believe things he was told, but experience had taught him better.

Old habits, however, are hard to break.

Uttering a guttural curse that none within earshot could miss, Silvermane smacked the already open lobby door to the Sunshine Waffle Community Health Clinic so hard it made a banging noise that echoed down the hall. He had allowed the Waffles to clean up their examination room for medical purposes despite potential evidence, and he had even gone so far as to allow them to tidy up the lobby, so that the few in residence at Little Hoofington would not feel too unnerved to seek medical care. Some of the blood had indeed been scrubbed up, but removing bodily stains was no small task, and not enough time had gone by to clear it all away. Thus, a few of the old bloodstains were still there…left to mingle, in a morbid dance, with the new ones that graced every corner of the room.

A blue bundle that had once been a pony lay at rest in the center of the lobby, its limbs stretched out at grotesque angles that no living pony could reproduce. Both of its eyes were gone – blunted tear marks around the sockets suggested the grisly removal was accomplished with a dull gouging tool. A splatter of offal on the floor in the colors of blood and sclera lent itself to the idea that the killer simply squashed one (or perhaps both) of the victim’s extracted eyes with a hoof. Teeth lay strewn about with bloody roots, but each would have had to have been extracted one at a time from the jaw to reproduce the state of the victim’s gums. The corpse surprisingly had all its limbs, but the mane and tail had been torn out by the root and scattered in piles of hair all throughout the room, as though whomever removed them had danced about whilst gleefully spreading them all over the place.

There were two gashes in the victim’s neck. One of them cut from the throat nearly all the way to the spine, but the other, the more shallow of the two, appeared to have been inflicted sooner. This cut by itself was enough for the victim to bleed to death, but it didn’t go deep enough to sever the larynx. Through the hole, it could be plainly seen that the victim’s vocal chords had been violently sliced out.

Captain Silvermane shuddered. Upon the corpse’s limbs were heavy straps, usually used in medical applications to secure a delirious patient to a stretcher for safe transportation. It was very likely this pony was incapacitated from behind without being knocked unconscious, bound, quickly rendered unable to cry for help, and then forced to bear witness to the horrors taken out on them before finally being blinded, and for all intents and purposes, beheaded. The corpse’s cutie mark was gone, but his identity was obvious. As obvious as the rainbow-colored umbrella that had been jammed in an orifice that ruined his dignity, even in death.

Beat Trotter, who was kneeling over the body, shook his head. “It’s Whim, that’s fer sure. I ain’t no expert in forensics Captain, but I’ve learned a thing or two. Body’s still a little bit warm. This had to have happened only a couple hours ago.”

Deputy Trotter paused abruptly to swallow hard. He didn’t recover quickly, and though he was loathe to ask, Silvermane understood. He nodded at the deputy, who promptly scampered through the double doors to vomit into the street.

A crime scene, Silvermane thought. I let him go to a crime scene…why did I let Whim come here last night?”

But Hector knew why. Because he had chosen to trust. Because he wanted to take pity on these poor, terrified ponies, and allow them their planned moment of respite. He had let trust get in the way, and a third death on his watch had been the result.

“—accident!” Maple Waffle was shouting at Constable Rose, who had assumed a threatening stance before the wing-tied Pegasus. Maple held up a hoof, which, like its mates, was covered in blood. “I told you it was an accident! I didn’t know any of this was here! I walked out into the lobby this morning and nearly slipped on it all!”

“An’ you didn’t even figger on washin’ it off, didja?” Rose accused.

“No, no I didn’t! Wouldn’t I be even more likely to be the killer if I had done that first!?”

Behind the Waffle patriarch, stuffed into the hall, was the diminutive figure of his wife, Buttermilk Waffle. She was visibly shaken and was concentrating to still her breathing, but like a true medical professional, she was keeping it together even in the face of such horrifying gore. The Waffle children were behaving as any curious youths – trying to get a look past their mother, while she made every attempt to block them.

“This is the second time somepony has tried to frame my family!” Maple roared. He stood protectively before his kin and cut a rather menacing figure, even with his wings bound tightly at his sides. “What are you all going to do about it!? It’s obvious that somepony wants our clinic to be shut down so there’ll be no medical help when it’s needed!”

”When it’s needed?” Constable Rose had her head partially bowed, displaying her horn. “You know somethin’ we don’t, mebbe?”

“Y-you know what I mean!” Maple sputtered. He turned his attention to Silvermane. “Captain! You can’t possibly believe we’re responsible for this, can you?”

Captain Silvermane remembered Stringbean’s words. Four changelings. Four Waffles. The Waffles had voluntarily taken Specs in to care for her, and she was dead by morning, in their own lobby. Whim had gone to the Waffle clinic to spread good cheer, but he too had been killed in the same place, his body desecrated in the a manner so undignified, it seemed as though the killer was taunting them.

Captain Silvermane’s trust had been to blame. Weakness in the eye of the picturesque nuclear family, as a bastion of normalcy in the untenable madness that was Little Hoofington.

Hector’s eyes narrowed.

“What do you want me to believe, Mister Waffle?” The captain replied, his voice calm and even. “It’s one thing for your lobby to be accessible at all hours of the day, but a heinous murder occurs here, and yet you continue that practice? Two-thirds of the deaths that have occurred in this town since I arrived have been in this same room!”

“I am not changeling!” Maple bellowed. “We all know by now that changelings don’t kill this way!”

“Maybe not,” Hector simmered. “But Pinkamena does.”

Maple was aghast. He chuckled condescendingly. “You can’t be serious. Pinkamena is a famous serial killer, we all know what she looks like. She’s an average-built mare,” he rose to his full, imposing height, “I’m a large stallion. How could I possibly be Pinkamena?”

“Pinkamena is capable of feats most ponies would consider impossible,” Silvermane replied. “She’s also a master of disguise. Look how many times she fooled her own best friends, and the princesses of Equestria, into giving her another chance, despite what she had done.”

Maple gritted his teeth. “What are you trying to say?”

Silvermane didn’t hesitate. “I’m trying to say that I wouldn’t put it past Pinkamena to fool anypony into believing she’s anything from a sea monster to Ahuizotl.”

“You’re insane,” Maple accused. “Check between my legs, you’ll see I’m telling the truth.”

Hector, who had managed to temporarily pack his emotions into the cool casing of military discipline, flicked an ear. “You know what? You might be right. Maybe you’re not Pinkamena because you’re too tall and a stallion. Maybe that is a bit of a stretch, even for her.”

Hector’s eyes slid to Buttermilk. Maple’s jaw dropped, and in half a second he had imposed himself between the guard captain and the mare in the room.

“Don’t you look at my wife that way,” Maple growled.

“H-honey, please,” Buttermilk spoke up, her voice small behind her husband. “You can’t blame the captain for thinking that way. The evidence points to us.”

“Did you murder these ponies?” Maple asked without turning around.

“…o-of course not, you know I vowed to do no harm the day I got my license…”

“Then I don’t give a damn what Silvermane thinks,” Maple concluded. He glanced towards Constable Rose. She was stoic and solid in her stance, but still looked comically diminutive compared to the Pegasus stallion she held in check. “Captain Silvermane has made our constabulary, our own police force we trust to protect us, into his personal gang of cronies. ‘Oh look, a guard arrived! Let’s just drop everything and obey!’”

“My authorization to assume overall command of the guard post in this town was signed and sealed by the princesses themselves,” Silvermane explained. “The authority of the national guard also supersedes that of local authorities in times of emergency.”

“Ah seen that writ with mah own eyes,” Rose agreed. “An’ ah also seen whut’s been goin’ on in this here lobby for the past couple’a days.”

Maple spat. “A sealed writ? A seal can be forged!”

“Nopony would dare create a copy of the royal seal,” Silvermane defended himself. “To do so is considered a high crime, and to use or even be caught in possession of one would be tantamount to treason against the crown.”

“There’s no way to commit treason against Equestria when you’re a member of the changeling nation!” Maple accused.

Silvermane had reached his limit, and had no intention of further turning the conversation into a personal character assassination. He drew in a breath and finalized his intentions.

“Maple Waffle, you’re under arrest. For the murder of Specs, and now Whim. You can either come quietly, or we can do this in a way we’ll both regret.”

Maple stood his ground. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Buttermilk, who had been quiet, fought through the sharp stench of death in the room that was cloying about her like a second skin. “Captain Silvermane, unless you’ve decided whether these murders were committed by a changeling or Pinkamena, to the point that one or the other is not present in Little Hoofington, arresting only my husband may not stop the killing.”

Silvermane sighed. “I know. And that’s why you’re under arrest too, Missus Waffle. On the same charges.”

Buttermilk’s periwinkle coat practically turned white. “…y-you…C-Captain Silvermane, my children…” she placed a hoof protectively on the first head she could find whilst blindly groping, which happened to be Chocolate’s. “…w-who will look after my children…please, you can’t take both of us away from them…”

Chocolate Waffle had a nearly catatonic look about him. He had gotten out from behind his distracted mother, and his eyes were on the carnage in the lobby. The poor colt’s expression was one of shock that ran so deep he couldn’t even express it, but his sister was conversely a ball of youthful terror. Strawberry Waffle shot out from behind her mother and latched onto her father’s leg, her fruity curls bouncing around her face.

“Please don’t take my daddy away!!” Strawberry shouted, her tone and words more juvenile than her years. “Daddy might get hurt if he doesn’t stay here where it’s safe with us!!”

Strawberry Waffle was impressively pious for a youth, as she seemed to have no qualms about herself – her words revolved totally around her father’s safety. Silvermane had no children of his own, but he and Chloe planned to start trying next spring. He was not entirely unfamiliar with foals, for many of his associates in the guard had their own. He had felt as a second father to a few of the young ones, and thus felt a pang of guilt for what he was about to do.

Duty rang out in the captain’s mind like the tolling of bells. There was a rustling noise, and Deputy Trotter appeared again in the doorway. With numbers bolstered, Silvermane repeated his orders.

“Mister and Missus Waffle, I insist you come with us. You have my word that no harm will come to either of you in our custody, and you will be set free if the evidence proves inconclusive, or points to your innocence.”

“B-but what about the children…” Buttermilk blubbered.

“The children…” Silvermane thought fast, for he knew they could not be left at the clinic to fend for themselves. “They can stay with us too. We have several rooms available and all of us will be nearby to protect them.”

“Unacceptable!” Maple shouted, stamping one hoof upon the floor until it bore a fresh coat of blood. “How do we know the jailhouse is really safe? We’re safe here, and we know it!”

Buttermilk was talking with her hooves. “What about the clinic, Captain? How will we continue our practice?”

“If anypony requires medical assistance, we’ll bring them to you,” Silvermane assured, and then nodded towards Trotter, “Deputy Trotter can obtain any equipment you require.”

“What about the equipment that can’t be moved?” Maple managed to ask through his own rage.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Maple planted his hooves. “That doesn’t change the fact that I’m not going anywhere, ‘Captain’. Assuming ‘Hector Silvermane’ is even a real pony in the first place.”

Silvermane’s eyes narrowed and his hackles went up, but he kept his expression straight. “Resisting arrest is a crime, Mister Waffle. It may also be the first crime in days to actually have witnesses,” he added sarcastically.

Maple gritted his teeth so hard that they ought to have shattered. He bristled, waiting to see which officer would pounce at him first. Constable Rose’s horn was alight, and it sizzled with hot power.

“Darling, stop this,” Buttermilk let go of her son and stepped to the forefront. She looked forlorn, as if she had resigned herself to being whisked away to a concentration camp by an invading army. “Nothing good will come of this other than somepony else being hurt. I can’t let that one be a member of our family.”

“Neither can I dear,” Maple seethed, his eyes still on his attackers. “That’s why I’m not going anywhere.”

Buttermilk’s soft countenance grew suddenly sharp. “Now see here, Maple Waffle! You’re being stubborn! You know we didn’t do this, and I know we didn’t do this. You will not start a fight in our ancestors’ place of healing, no matter what else has transpired here recently, and I won’t let you bring our children to potential harm.” Her expression softened, and she reached out a hoof to place it gently on his chest. “Please, darling…please. Captain Silvermane is a just stallion trying to help our town. I just know he is. We’ll clear this up once and for all, and then, i-if you really want to…we’ll leave this town forever, never to look back. We’ll go and build a new life for our family, and practice the healing arts in another community. One where we can still make a difference.”

There was a clack of hooves in the sudden silence. Chocolate Waffle was out in the lobby proper, and was staring down at the corpse, smashed eyeballs and all. Buttermilk knew she was too late to protect him from the sight, so she approached gently, and placed that same hoof upon his withers.

“Would you like that, sweetie? Would you like to go and live in a new town? You could make new friends there, someplace safe in the heart of Equestria, where nothing like this will ever happen again. You…_we_ can be happy there…”

Chocolate let out a small breath. He said nothing, and made eye contact with nopony. His expression was like a portal to limbo, and it left even Captain Silvermane wondering if the colt had any love left for a changeling to steal. His cutie mark was flat and drab – not even much of a target for the technicolor madness of Pinkamena. Silvermane felt pity for the boy – his frown lines were not worn in, suggesting that perhaps, before all of this started, he once knew how to smile.

Maybe it wasn’t too late for him. Or for any of them.

Captain Silvermane stepped up beside Constable Rose and placed a staying hoof upon her shoulder. The itchy-hoofed nag seemed almost eager to open fire, but she let out a sharp breath of her own and steeled herself at her commander’s unspoken orders.

Buttermilk’s eyes scanned the room. The three officers were trying to be cordial, but she could find no hesitation in any of their eyes. Her daughter was clinging to her husband like glue and trying to will the law away with her eyes, while Maple seemed ready to run all three of his adversaries through with his eyes alone. There was a slight shift in the pineapple stallion’s demeanor, and finally he spoke.

“…fine, Captain,” Maple had no choice but to acquiesce. “But if anything happens to my family under your care, you’d better kill me too, because so help me, I’ll make sure you lose more than just your badge.”

Silvermane allowed his officers to advance carefully on the Waffle family. “You have my word, Mister Waffle. The moment the two of you are absolved of this crime, you’ll be set free.”

Silvermane had no idea how that was going to come to pass.

****

“—put me in here with him!!” Stringbean wailed. “You can’t put me in here with him!! He’s a monster! That’s the same thing as murder!!”

Silvermane said nothing. He stood in the entrance between the constabulary’s lobby and the cell room, thinking about how the building was ill-equipped to serve as anything more than a temporary drunk tank. His body was still, but his mind was racing. If the Waffles were innocent, he had no means by which to prove it, and his trust had already been violated too deeply to simply let them go otherwise. But could he really keep them locked up indefinitely, as the town’s only healers?

Was there no way to prove their innocence beyond keeping them incarcerated long enough to see if any more murders occurred?

The constabulary had three small cells, but the leftmost cell had a damaged hinge and was of little use but to hold Deputy Trotter’s cot. The rightmost cell, farthest from the main entrance, housed the quiet form of Buttermilk Waffle. She was sitting on the cell’s single cot and staring down at her hooves, as though she was expecting to be led into the noose at any moment.

The center cell was already home to Stringbean, but Deputy Trotter was in the process of introducing Maple Waffle to it. The itinerant miner was pitching a fit about the accommodations, but Silvermane couldn’t risk leaving the Maple spouses in the same cell, for fear of what changelings might be able to accomplish in force – not that he had any guarantee that Stringbean himself wasn’t one of the insectal monsters.

Maple didn’t look too pleased about the situation either. He said little, but the look on his face was enough to send a chill down even the guard captain’s spine. Silvermane turned and left the shouting behind, returning to the lobby to collect himself.

“Captain,” Whatzit spoke up as she lingered by the coffee brewer, “where’s Constable Rose?”

“Seeing to the completion of the task I set Deputy Trotter to yesterday,” Hector explained. “On account of a claim by the both of them that she’s better with complex knots.”

Zit touched her neck and glanced at the far wall. She could not see through it, but on the she knew what was visible from the cells. The restored gallows were nearly complete.

“…you…you won’t really…”

“Zit,” Silvermane admonished. “Hush.”

Whatzit shrank. On the couch were the Waffle children, who were well within earshot of everything. Strawberry was up against her brother with a foreleg around him, but her wide eyes were fixated on the cell room entrance. Her terror had put her in a catatonic stupor much like his, as though Silvermane had already ordered the death of her parents by hanging. Chocolate hung his head, and was staring at one of his sister’s candy-colored hooves. Silvermane wondered, as always, what was on the boy’s mind. What he saw now, and what he had seen that had ruined him so.

“There’s to be a guard posted here at all times from now on,” Silvermane ordered without looking at Whatzit. “And nobody comes in without the code knock, not even if they sound like one of us.”

Whatzit had a cup of coffee but she hadn’t touched it. She looked nervous. “…yes, Sir.”

Silvermane noticed his young deputy’s agitation. That, plus the pink scarf around her neck that belonged to his wife, softened his demeanor somewhat. “Zit, everything’s quiet now. We have a few moments to collect ourselves, and then we’re going to find proper accommodations for the foal—“

Silvermane never finished his sentence. The scream that rent the air was otherworldly, and like nothing he had ever experienced before.

Captain Silvermane dashed back towards the cell room, and was nearly bowled over by Stringbean, who was traveling at the same feverish pace in the opposite direction. Silvermane attempted to restrain him with shouts and grabs, but the washed-out miner was beyond recognition of his words. Stringbean merely dodged, a haunted terror in his eyes, and loped clumsily towards the front door, crashing through it unnecessarily with his full bulk.

“Stop!!” Silvermane shouted. “Stop in the name of the law! Deputy Trotter, the prisoner is esc—“

It was all happening too fast. Screams – male, female, and bestial filled the cell room, their combined disharmony tearing apart the tomb-like silence of the entire building, perhaps even the entire town. In the furthest cell, Buttermilk Waffle was beating on the bars like a mare possessed, her words barely understandable through her frantic bawling and the din of the room.

“—husband!? Captain, CAPTAIN!! What’s happening to my husband!?”

But Maple Waffle wasn’t there. The Pegasus wing-chain that had held him was snapped upon he floor, and in his place stood a hulking specimen of a deep black changeling. The creature was uncommonly large for its kind – the very size of the pony it had been posing as – and the power behind its perforated legs was evident as it went about its ghoulish task.

With one hoof, the ichor-stained monstrosity had Beat Trotter planted up against the wall. The deputy constable’s body was wracked with convulsions – somehow, the pitiable pony was still able to wail as his body was desiccated alive; his limbs and face warped into gnarled, sunken features that resembled a corpse preserved for a thousand years in the deserts of the south. A colorful vapor was emanating from his entire body – the great maw of the beast who was destroying him sucked the colors up like a vacuum cleaner on high.

“NO!”

With a cry that was like a cannonball at his enemy, Captain Silvermane tore through the open cell gate and launched himself at the great black hole that had dared to mar the sanctity of his jailhouse. His bulk was enough to topple it, but he had little experience doing direct battle with changelings, and the creature threw him off with a series of well-placed bites from its powerful jaws. It was incredibly nimble on two pairs of insectal wings, and it made use of these to dodge and feint, trying to make it past the guard captain to the freedom of the unlocked cell gate.

Silvermane burned with anger over being duped by these creatures into playing their game – mistrusting everypony, false incarceration, and losing innocents he was sworn to protect. He had been frustrated by a number of well-placed attacks, but his training kicked in, and he channeled the passionate hatred for the beast he faced into a calm, even core deep within his mind and heart. He batted and kicked at the monster, holding it at bay as he scanned the patterns of its movements for an opening. He found it when the hissing changeling kicked off its hind legs and made an attempt to soar straight over him. Silvermane lit his horn and opened fire the moment the creature was directly above, catching it full in the stomach with a low-level blast of law-enforcement magic intended to incapacitate even the most stoic Earth pony.

The changeling howled, its stomach smoking, and was flung back against the far cell wall. It crumpled against a bunk, but to Silvermane’s shock, the beast quickly righted itself and dipped into another stance, its opaque eyes locked on fresh prey in a royal guard helmet.

Silvermane’s head was reeling, but he aimed his horn menacingly at the monster and amped up the glow of the stored magic. “Halt!” He commanded. “Or the next one takes off your head!!”

The creature seemed to weigh this threat for a moment, as if trying to decide if it had anything to lose by disobeying, for the gallows were in full view through the barred cell window. Deciding to take its chances, it let out a cobra’s hiss and leapt into Silvermane with such speed that the captain’s shot went wild.

To the hysterical screams of the mare who could not see them, stallion and changeling mixed it, rolling into a battered ball throughout the cell. When the changeling found itself both on top and near the door it made a break for the exit, but Silvermane fired off a shot that sent the barred gate slamming shut. It clicked, automatically locking, and the beast cast a baleful stare at the pony who had locked them both in. Silvermane grinned perversely.

“You’re never getting out of here you bastard,” Silvermane winced from the floor, his very breath tender in his lungs. He pointed to his helmet. “Got another set of keys in here. But you’re only getting them over my dead body.”

The robust changeling let out a piercing scream of challenge, as colorful love-ichor that had once belonged to a deputy constable spattered from its jaws in all directions. Silvermane was winded, covered in bites and small gouges; his foe a head again his own height and nearly twice the bulk. He wasn’t about to give up, but unless he could muster up the energy for another powerful bolt of magic that actually hit its mark, he knew the inevitable outcome of the battle. Weariness was hampering his mind however, and the needed energy was no longer his to command.

The creature pounced again. Silvermane braced for impact.

All at once, the ebon demon howled with pain as another blast of power sent it crashing yet again into the far wall. It grimaced and choked, gripping at a plume of smoke trailing from its side, but did not get up again.

In the center of the cell room stood Constable Rose, another plume of white smoke emanating from the tip of her horn as from the barrel of a shotgun. She patted her horn and smiled. “Y’all git to mah age, Cap’n. See if yer horn don’t do the same. Ol’ Spiral here’s been itchin’ to bag a changeling half a forever. ‘bout time.”

Silvermane made eye contact with the changeling. It stared back, wild hatred in its eyes, but was too stunned to take further action. The guard captain used the opportunity to nab the prone form of Deputy Trotter by two forelegs and drag him from the cell.

Constable Rose had been chewing on a toothpick, but it fell from her maw when she laid eyes on the deputy. “…sweet merciful mother Celestia…” the old nag choked. “…not him too…”

Silvermane spread Trotter out on the floor and attempted CPR – it was a strange gesture and a futile one, but it was all the beleaguered commander could think to do. Beat Trotter’s face was twisted in throes of a terrifying death, the shrunken raisins of his eyes never to take in another sight. He looked far older than Constable Rose, and his mane and tail had gone stark white. There was no pulse, no heartbeat, and he had already gone a bit cool to the touch.

Buttermilk Waffle screamed at the sight. Constable Rose was shaking, and her eyes snapped up to meet the changeling.

“Y-you…y’dirty sonnova…that boy was a good egg…he’d’a made somethin’ of himself someday as a lawpony, I’m sure of it…n’ you…you…” she sputtered, “…y’hadda go an’ take that all away so’s you could have a Celestia-be-damned snack!”

Constable Rose was stronger with bolt magic than any guard Silvermane had ever met, and her horn came to life with white fire that sent a shiver even into the heart of the guard captain. Silvermane was on his hooves, and he interposed himself between the constable and the cell door.

“Git!!” Rose shouted. “Go on ‘n git, Cap’n! I’ll burn that monster down fer what it done!”

“You’re a lawpony!” Silvermane protested.

“You lemme burn him an’ it’ll all be over!” Rose shot back. “Ain’t nopony gonna know in this here dead town!”

“That’s murder, Constable!”

“Whut, you wanna stretch that thing’s neck instead? There ain’t no difference!”

“There is a difference,” Silvermane shot back. “One is justice, the other is just cold-blooded revenge!”

Rose’s eyes narrowed. “You ever kill a pony, Cap’n?”

“What?” Silvermane blinked. “…no.”

Rose doused her horn, but her stance remained firm. “Ah have. An’ let me tell you something…it’s a hell of a thing, takin’ a life. Ain’t nothin’ like movies and books an’ all that romantic garbage.” She turned away. “…y’all remember that when you think about mah offer to end all this right now, and you sit there watchin’ that thing swing from a rope at yer command.”

Buttermilk Waffle’s sobs were without end. She hadn’t for a moment ceased inquiring about the safety of her husband, but before either lawpony could finally reply, another shrill scream rent the air. Everypony turned, to find Strawberry Waffle in the doorway with her brother and Zit. The daughter of the Waffles had her eyes not on the corpse, but the center cell.

“Daddy!! Daddy!!” Strawberry wailed. “Don’t hurt my daddy, please!!”

Silvermane glanced at the cell. On the floor, a wound upon his side, lay Maple Waffle, in the exact same position the changeling had been in.

“Stop it!” Silvermane snarled at the changeling as he approached the bars. “Can’t you see they’ve been through enough!? The ruse is over! Stop doing this to them!!”

The creature, in Maple Waffle’s voice, rattled out a dry chuckle. “…won’t matter soon…soon you’ll all be dead…we’re everywhere…you can’t trust anypony…”

Silvermane glowered. “You’re through, monster. Tomorrow you’ll die by the gallows.”

“NO!!” Strawberry cried. She tried to scamper into the room, but Zit held her fast.

“Get them out of here!” Silvermane shouted. Startled by the barked order, Zit began to force the children from the room.

Maple laughed. “…heh, you think my death is going to stop us? My queen has you all figured out, lawpony. You’re all already corpses like your friend over there. You just don’t know you’re dead yet.”

Silvermane shook his head in defiance. “No. You haven’t won yet. If you had, you’d be slaughtering us wholesale in the street. But you’re still hiding. Still playing the game.” He drew up to his full height and stared down the prone changeling, his head pounding with exertion and pain from a dozen tiny wounds. “Which means victory isn’t certain for you. We can still destroy you.”

Maple cackled again. “Kill me, dirty little pony. Kill me and see what little difference it really makes. I would die in the service of my hive anyway.”

Buttermilk was curled up into a ball on the floor of her cell. “…m-my husband…m-my family…d-don’t hurt them…”

Maple called out to her lovingly in the voice of the pony she once knew. Then he turned back to Silvermane. “We’ve had time to learn to be you. That’s the kiss of death – time. Now we can cry, laugh, wail for loved ones, or chastise you about trust…and you’ll never know the difference.”

Silvermane’s eyes went back and forth between the two incarcerated Waffles. Their emotional states suddenly unnerved him, and he had an overwhelming desire to remove himself from their presence. He was exhausted, injured, and thoroughly disgusted. He turned from the cells, intent upon leaving the room, until he almost tripped over the corpse of Beat Trotter. Constable Rose had her head down and her attention on the former deputy. She was quaking, but with sorrow, fear, anguish, or just plain fury, he could not tell.

“…we…need to move him,” Silvermane said gently, “and Whim, too. Let’s focus on our tasks. The changeling dies first thing in the morning. I’ll put Zit on guard.”

Rose shook her head defiantly. “Ah’ll watch that thing. It’s the least ah can do fer ol’ Trotter.”

Silvermane raised a brow, but Rose cut him off with a dismissive hoof. “I ain’t gonna burn him down b’fore his date with death. Y’got my word. Y’all take the kid and do what you gotta.”

Silvermane nodded dully and went about assisting the constable in the grim task. Between them, they collected the body and removed themselves from the chamber, the cries of Buttermilk Waffle chasing them all the way.

Author's Note

Whim has died. Whim was the partypony.

Beat Trotter has died. Beat Trotter was the jailer.

Captain Hector Silvermane
Constable Dusky Rose
Deputy Beat Trotter (Jailer)
Whatzit
Cadabra Smile
Lora Lore
Stringbean
Kitty Contessa
Whim (Partypony)
Maple Waffle
Buttermilk Waffle
Chocolate Waffle
Strawberry Waffle
Scoops (Reporter)
Specs (Watchpony)
Caveat
Beanie