To Those Who Resist

Zecora stepped into her private quarters. Each step caused a searing pain to shoot through her thigh. She remembered exactly how the battle transpired as she sat down on the makeshift cot. The screams; the bloodshed; the begging for mercy as the tyrant queen dragged unfortunate soldiers away, most likely to be executed or tortured for information; but most of all, the rage. The battlefield teemed with it. The anger the rebels felt towards the changeling leader was thick, and it lingered in the air like smoke. These changelings claimed to be after love, but the evidence for such motives was all but incriminating. This was nothing to love. It was a massacre. This whole war.

Zecora’s flashbacks were interrupted by another shoot of pain lancing through her thigh. With a wince, she reached for a medical kit under the bed and pulled it out. Opening it up, she pulled out different herbs and oils that would aid quickly in the healing process. Using a pair of pliers, she removed the bullet from her leg and quickly wrapped it in a bandage soaked with healing oils. Once she laid her leg to rest on the bed, she took a moment to inspect the bullet. It was the shape of a typical bullet, but it was black, and full of holes. Just like the changelings who manufactured these things. The point was sharp, like a needle, and there were severed chitin cords on the shell. These bullets acted as a parasite, slowly taking control of and transforming the flesh and bone of the victim until only a changeling shell remained. By this point, a cure was impossible. The victim either had to sacrifice their life to save the rebellion, or be captured by the queen for Celestia knows what awful torture the changelings subjected their victims to. But at this early in development, the parasitic effects could be reversed. Thankfully, it had only been an hour since the bullet entered Zecora’s flesh.

She gave a sigh. “Despite all we try to do, freedom for Equestria seems all but true.” She put away her medical kit and stood up, making sure to keep weight off of her injured leg. She limped over to her mirror and take a look at herself.

The substance lathered on her body to let others know that she was not changeling had long since hardened, though it provided no physical protection. It was a muddy color, with bits of green and grey. Each rebel member had a different way they had applied the substance. Sometimes to signify rank, or simply as an expression of their personality. Zecora’s, however, was very simple: bands of the stuff around her wrists, biceps, neck, forehead, and midsection. Zecora’s outfit had been torn terribly from the previous battle, so she removed it to change into a fresh one. The foliage wrappings fell away, exposing her amazon body. The white in her zebra coat had faded to a greenish-brown color, and the black stripes were stained a dark green. As she admired her curves briefly, she refrained from touching herself. It was forbidden to take part in any sexual actions, for the changelings could sense the love that was radiated, and the rebel base’s location would be compromised.

Zecora walked over to a small closet and open it, showing many more outfits exactly like the one she was just wearing, only untouched and unworn. She selected one and slipped it on. The outfit pressed against her curves, firmly but comfortably keeping them from hindering movement. Her salvaged rifle sat in the corner of the room, covered in mud and plant matter. While it was standard military procedure to clean the weapon after every mission, the rebellion was no military. There was often little time for such procedural tasks. The inner workings of the firearms were, however, heavily enforced to be cleaned, to keep the guns from jamming in a hostile situation. Zecora picked up her gun and looked it over. She had killed many changelings with it, a good few of which were close friends who had been captured. She closed her eyes to reflect and mourn for her lost friends. But it didn’t last long.

“Captain?” a voice said from beyond the door. Zecora opened her eyes and turned around.

“Enter,” Zecora said. The door slid open, and Fluttershy walked inside.

“I, um,” Fluttershy stuttered. “I wanted to make sure you were OK.”

“Not to worry, my friend,” Zecora assured. “Not yet, have I reached my end.”

Fluttershy let out a sigh of relif. “I’m very happy to hear that.”

Zecora’s face went serious. “But that was not the reason you came here. Something much more important to say, I fear.”

Fluttershy solemnly nodded. “I think you need to see for yourself. I can’t bear to say it.” Zecora simply nodded, and slung her rifle across her back before following Fluttershy out. Fluttershy wore the same outfit as Zecora, though with a few more leafy flaps for better modesty. Though even then, that was limited. Fluttershy carried knives rather than guns, with good reason. While a first impression would reveal her to be terribly shy, yet kind, she harbored a deep and fiery hatred for changelings after they took her best friend, Rainbow Dash, from her. She preferred to kill them up close and as violently as possible, casting vengeance upon her friend’s murderers. As Zecora walked with Fluttershy through the base, she looked around at the other rebels. They were patching up their own wounds, or mourning the dead. This war was taking its toll on the rebels, and it showed. Fluttershy stopped at a small hut.

“Zecora,” Fluttershy hesitated. “You may not like what you see in here.” She opened the hut’s door, and walked inside, holding the door open for Zecora, who stepped inside shortly after. When her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Zecora’s hand shot to her mouth. Sitting in front of her was a small changeling, but it had formerly been the filly Applebloom, made apparent by the pink bow she always wore. Applebloom was trembling, obviously terrified and frightened. A rebel fighter was trying to calm her down, but to little success.

Applebloom noticed Zecora and Fluttershy. “Zecora,” she stammered. “What’ssss happenin’ to me? I’m sssscared” Some of the rebels in the room raised their weapons at the hissing, but Zecora motioned for them to stand down.

Fluttershy came up to Applebloom and knelt down. “I’m so sorry. This shouldn’t have happened to somepony so young.”

“What’ssss gonna happen to me?” Applebloom cried. She was borderline panicking from the ordeal.

Zecora had turned around, facing the wall. “Only one option can I see now,” Zecora muttered under her breath. “Access to the base, I’m afraid we cannot allow.”

“Captain?” a rebel asked. Zecora walked up to him and whispered in his ear.

“Up to the sniper’s nest, you must go,” she said. “Inform the posted there of what he must know. Not allowed to live, the little one can be. Give that word to the one in the tree.” The rebel’s eyes narrowed with shock.

“Captain, we can’t!” he quietly cried. “She’s just a kid!”

“Do not argue with my authority,” Zecora muttered through gritted teeth. “If we don’t remove this threat, the queen will gain superiority.” The rebel gave a heavy sigh.

“Yes ma’am,” he reluctantly said. He left the hut.

“Zecora, you’ve gotta help me!” Applebloom cried. Zecora reached out her hand to Applebloom.

“Come with me child,” she said. “I will help you become reconciled.” Applebloom took Zecora’s hand with her new shelled one. The chitin felt hard and cold in Zecora’s hand; something she hoped to never feel. But this had to be done. She helped Applebloom up and walked with her out of the hut.

“Where’re we goin’?” Applebloom asked through tears.

“We must run a special task,” Zecora lied. “I dropped something I need your help to find: an important mask. It will help you become well, and break this hard outer shell.”

Applebloom gave a sniffle. “Alright.” Zecora walked with her to a clearing just outside the camp.

“Issss it OK if I go on ahead, Zecora?” Applebloom asked.

“Of course,” Zecora said. “See if you can find the mask’s source.” Applebloom let go of Zecora’s hand and walked ahead of her.

Zecora stopped where she was, just inside the base limits, and her smile disappeared, replaced with a cold demeanor. This was a terrible, but necessary task. Showing emotion would only cloud her judgment. Applebloom continued to walk, remaining blissfully unaware of what fate had in store for her. She took one step, then two, then three. The air stood still. Zecora watched Applebloom; unblinking and unemotional. She turned around and walked back towards the base.

“Zecora, where did you ssssay it wassss?” Applebloom asked. But she got no response. As she turned around, her mildly comforted expression disappeared completely, replaced with pure fear and betrayal. She balled her hands into fists as tears streamed down her face. The last thing Applebloom heard was the sound of a sniper rifle, and then nothing. Every muscle and nerve in her body fell limp as she collapsed to the dirt, never to breathe again. This was the changeling resistance, and it was imperative that their location remained a secret.