The Last Changeling Commune

{\_2 months later_/}

Nopony ever sees an attack coming on a quiet moonless night. Well, suspect it; yes. However, the Crystal Nationalists didn't see the hundred and half army converging in on the town turned prison-camp.

They especially didn't realize as one-by-one the white-masked guards outside of the building were gag and tied by the Changelings.

Within a matter of minutes, the 18 guards outside were no longer able to hurt anypony else, but there were still more inside of the 10 cabins which were huddled in a circle close to each other.

This would work well for a new tactic about to be tried out; that being to smoke them out. Indeed, it was a cruel plan only Lieutenant Zhelezo could think of and involved lighting the end of a building on fire and pouncing on those who run out to escape the flames.

As Captain Breakheart started to get into position in front of the centremost, and largest, cabin he could hear what sounded like a mare begging for her life.

Just as soon as he pieced together what was happening the Pyro-Changelings lit the far ends in a demonic green flame. Meanwhile, much panic was heard from within the cabins.

In a mater of seconds, out poured several dozen stallions in white robes, tripping over one another to escape the flames. Soon though, they realized that they were out of the fire, and into the fangs as the Armoured Changelings converged on the Nationalists with numbers 3-to-1.

Breakheart, however, had instead barrelled into the building, slamming a more skeletal stallion into the doorframe, to get inside. There he saw the mutilated corpses of several non-crystal ponies laying in a pile in front of three terrified Earth-pony mares.

“Get out, all of you!” Breakheart yelled through his riot mask, now filtering out the smoke.

To this, the mares simply responded by looking at the shackles binding their back right legs to the floor.

Thinking now of how to free them while the battle raged outside, Breakheart frantically scanned the room. Until his eyes rested on a bloodied lumberjack’s axe, no doubt dropped by a Nationalist whose torturing scene had been interrupted by the fire. Running over and picking up the axe in his front legs, Breakheart then had to awkwardly walk back on his hind legs.

And with the forward momentum, *Thud*, went the axe as in came down on the first pony’s chains, shattering a link to allow a disconnection.

Now the second pony’s turn, the building was now starting to really take flame. *Thud*, but the chain didn’t shatter. So, with the swinging strength of one now in a panic, *Thud*, and a link of the chain shattered allowing the second pony to escape.

By then, the building was starting to groan and hiss, threatening to fall at any moment.

With a swing at the third pony’s chains, *clink*. The axe bounced with little affect. Once again, in a panicked strength Breakheart swung and, *clink*. It was clear that the axe was no longer sharp enough to start a split through metal, but…

“It has to be your leg!” Breakheart shouted to the chained pony.

“W-What?” came her natural response.

“Either we burn here alive trying to break this chain, or I sever it from the knee.”

“Are you insane?”

But the cracking noise from the ceiling answered her question.

“Just do it quick.” she finally commanded.

Summoning all his strength, Breakheart swung the axe through the soft tendon between the bones and into the wood floor. The mare let out a pained scream but was already being tossed onto Breakheart’s back and heading towards the door.

Just a few feet from the door the mare then shouted to Breakheart, “Wait, there’s a little filly who hid in that closet there.” She was now pointing at an inconspicuous looking closet narrowly avoiding the growing flames.

Almost, throwing the mare out of the door and running at a break-neck speed, where Breakheart did indeed find a little tan filly crying her face into a somewhat-stuffed bear. Even in his rush, he could see that she didn’t even have a ‘cutie mark’ which most ponies seemed to have on their flanks.

Throwing her over his back, Breakheart rushed towards the door. But as the building let out its first gasp of pain, the entire front half collapsed, blocking any conventual exit.

“Oh, that’s original! What’s next? Fade to black for sponsors?” Breakheart yelled at seemingly nothing before realizing the filly on his back wasn’t breathing steadily.

In panic for the little filly in the thick smoke, Breakheart took off his mask and put it on the filly as she would need clean air more at this point. Then an exit idea glistened with the light of the moon through the thickening smoke. Picking the filly awkwardly in the bend of his neck, Breakheart ran as fast as his armoured legs could towards the promising angel-blue light. And with a leap, he turned his body around in the air to go crashing through a window, back first.

As Breakheart burrowed into the mud, he could feel several small pieces of glass cut into his back. Making it quite obvious that his jacket wasn’t completely cut-proof. Importantly though, the little filly seemed safe, with her head pressed into his chest. Although she was trembling from fear, an unfortunate side effect of war.

“You’re all Changelings?” a voice spat to Breakheart’s left.

Turning his head to look, Breakheart saw that it was one of the mares which he had rescued, this one in particular a deep blue with a gold pitcher for a cutie mark.

Breakheart then remembered where he was, what was happening, and who he was. Soon, he realized that he was surrounded by confused armoured Changelings, tied and beat Nationalists, and the three restrained mares.

Putting the filly of the ground and standing up himself, Breakheart responded in a commanding voice to hide his lisp, “Yes we’re Changelings, and thanks to us you’re not a pile of ash. As for these white-cloaks,” he said waving a leg towards a group of tied Nationalists, “they are why we are here. Because the less hate they cause, the better all our lives are, and I think you’re friends in that building,” he now was booming and pointing at the collapsing wreckage he had just escaped from, “would say that we didn’t come soon enough!”

All were quiet at this, and it wasn’t until Lieutenant Zhelezo went up to Captain Breakheart that the Changelings started commanding the captured Nationalists into a two a-breast line to escort back to outpost D.C.

“Comrade Captain we are not here to save ponies.” Whispered Zhelezo harshly, “Don’t you know how confusing it is for the drones when their leader goes missing in a fight and out pop a bunch of mares who don’t want to be around either side? And it’s not like we can let them get away.”

“That is not your place Lieutenant, you are the hawk of our counsel for the reason of your war tactics. When I want your opinion when it comes to casual murder then I will come and get you myself. Until then, just remember in that little brain of yours, that you are not a non-military leader.” Breakheart growled back, “now go lead your flock there and stick to your formations.”

“Excus-,” Zhelezo started.

“Dismissed!” Breakheart barked and walked away before Zhelezo could finish.

It was towards the three mares that Breakheart walked to. In the non-smoky moon-light, Breakheart could make them out specifically. There was the before mentioned blue pony with a pitcher cutie mark, a crimson pony with a bronze scythe as her cutie mark, and supported between them was the three and a half leg grass green pony who had the symbol of the kois as her cutie mark. He soon had a small feeling of relief when he saw a Changeling mending the necessary wound.

“Making sure she won’t bleed out on us I see?” Breakheart said as playfully as he could while still being serious.

“Yes sir. Luckily these Nationalists are basically walking bandages.” Responded the medical Changeling.

It was now that Breakheart realized that the Changeling was indeed using a ripped white cloak to wrap the wound, and that he wasn’t even a trained medic.

“Private Gusog? What are you doing tending to the wounded; I didn’t even know you knew how to heal others.” Breakheart said in mild disbelief.

“I don’t really know aidments sir, but all the medics were busy with our own and it seemed simple what they were doing. Also,” Gusog chuckled, “your lisp is acting up again.”

At that, Breakheart could feel an embarrassed heat rise into his ears at this calling out of the lisp. In truth, it really wasn’t noticeable, but it really set him off.

“Oh, so the big bad Changeling can’t speak properly?” the crimson pony snarked unsubtly.

Annoyed at the ungrateful ponies, Breakheart ordered in a voice to hide his lisp, “Private Gusog, tie those three together. And keep an eye on them during the escort.”

Just as Breakheart had turned and started to leave, Gusog asked a question which sent a chill down his spine, “What about the filly sir?”

Breakheart had almost forgotten about the little one and started scanning all around, but then he felt a slight pat on his back left leg. As it turned out she had following close behind, still wearing his mask and a singed toy bear on her back.

“I think she’ll be fine.” Breakheart answered, hiding a smile.

The trip from the outpost to the town took only half an hour, but with prisoners dragging their hoofs along it could take several hours. This was not the Communes first POW drive; they had learned how to cover tracks and keep even the most resistant in line.

As, Breakheart watched this white train surrounded by its black guard from atop a nearby hill, he still couldn’t believe how compliant the filly still wearing his mask was. In fact, it was more than just compliant, rather borderline loyal as she did her best to stick to his flank. All without making a sound.

Then he felt a small bump again his leg. Looking down he noticed her swaying from exhaustion. Now considering that she possibly had not slept for day, was trotting along in this trek, and it being near the end of the night, it was no wonder that she was giving out. Unfortunately, there was not much he could do, still having a few shards of glass in his back.

Tapping her shoulder, Breakheart spoke, breaking the silence, “Come now little one, it’s not too far now.”

On they marched, where along the way most Nationalists had learned that any escape effort was futile. Until at last they reached the cliff which hid the entrance to the Commune.

With the entrance open, the Nationalists saw the carved words “Ex Uno Multa” above, though most thought it was a magical ruin as few knew any older ponish phrases. However, instead of going straight to the main halls, they were lead to the right were a thin spiraling slope opened. This hall, just wide enough for two ponies abreast to walk was made that way to prevent any from turning tail. It was also made tall enough so the Changeling guards could walk on the ceiling to keep the prisoners in line.

At the end of the spiraling slope was an opening to a large chamber. In this chamber, the Nationalists were separated into two groups.

The first group was comprised of those who caused less trouble on the trek. They were sent forward to work on an underground farm, called the “Collective”, which supplies food to the prisoners. As well as supply the Changelings with bartering and crafting materials. After all, no one can build an army in an unforgiving region without outside trade. There are also other trees that produced small mustard seeds that the Changelings would use in a mix in order to transfer siphoned love to all.

This mixture itself is a combination of love, crushed onion, mustard seed, and vegetable oil. Which while it is quite the bitter pill for many, its taste is similar to love drained directly from a pony.

As for the second group, they were sent to another chamber to the right. In this chamber, the Nationalists are put into a mind-numbing coma and wrapped into large cocoons which lined the ceiling of the chamber. From here, the Changelings would ‘milk’ the love from the ponies in the cocoons to be distributed among the Commune’s members in the before mentioned mixture.

But Breakheart wasn’t concerned with these matters, and in fact he didn’t take pleasure in it at all. Instead he would use the little filly as an excuse to get away from this process.

As Breakheart entered the outpost behind the last Nationalist, he heard a voice all too familiar.

“Captain Breakheart, it is good to see you all back.” Said Gaster, “OH, um, you seem to have some glass in your back.”

“Hardly even noticed,” Breakheart replied, “Luckily we aren’t naturally unprotected like the ponies.”

“Right, gotta love chitin. Who’s that?” Gaster asked, now looking at the filly.

“I found myself a little assistant in the raid. And…” Breakheart continued with a sudden thought in his head, “I could use your aid to carry her around. At least until I get this glass out of my back.”

“Of course, comrade.” Gaster answered, then to the filly, “Come and hop on ‘little assistant’.” At this he laid down to which the filly went over and got on his back. Then standing up, “Huh, she’s light. Those Nationalists must have starved her.”

“We’ll get her some food after we settle her somewhere to rest. Now follow me, and make sure she doesn't fall off your back.”

Forward they went, through an opening that was under the carved ponish phrase.

Approaching the main halls, Breakheart instructed Gaster to hover down the vertical wall towards his chambers. The chamber itself was located right before the floor entrance of the district’s stone, should the need of him being a last line of defense be required. Inside, the chamber was a fairly decent sized room with several Changeling scrolls scattered in sporadic piles and a desk made from the side of a wall to the right of the entrance. This was covered with candles whose wax told the tale of many late nights of studying or planning. As for bedding, Breakheart used the modest nesting done by drones which in itself amounted to pressed straw and long grass.

“Put her on the nest and get Medic Stitches to come get this glass out of my back. And tell him to bring something for the filly to eat.” Breakheart commanded.

Putting the already sleeping filly on the nest, Gaster could help but ask, “Where will you sleep?

“Until we get something for her, I’ll just sleep on the floor here by the hall.”

“Alright. Although, I know it’s not really my place to question, but why is she staying with you instead of working the Collective?”

“Something tells me she’s more than just another drone for us, but either way she wouldn't be doing much in her condition.”

“Yes, but what would Lieutenant Zhelezo say?”

At this Breakheart’s blood stopped and started to simmer, after all Zhelezo was too busy keeping the Nationalists in line to even notice that the filly was still with him. And seeing how he acted with Breakheart saving the three mares…

“Then I’ll tell him that he can place his concern in my complaint box which is conveniently located in Tartarus. I swear, he’s been more aggressive ever since Nakts left.” Breakheart said to Gaster, who was inching towards the exit.

“Yeah,” said Gaster catching on, “why did Nakts leave anyway?”

“I’m not sure, and I've been looking at all his maps and notes recently. All I know is he left a “B” on a place known as “Ponyville”. But this is beside the current objective, so would you kindly go get Medic Stitches and tell him to come down with some apples.”

“Yes sir!” Gaster said springing into action and buzzing out of the chamber.[/pre]

Now alone, Breakheart trotted over to his stone desk and lit a candle with a match from a box he had looted several months ago. Even with years of practice, it still felt odd not being able to manipulate objects with a horn and instead relying on his ungues alone.

Taking off his helmet to keep from over straining his neck Breakheart remembered that his mask was still on the filly. One could only imagine how it would feel sleeping all night with it on.

Walking towards the sleeping filly, Breakheart tried to think of how to get it off without waking her. The straps were magically enchanted, so the wearer could command it off with ease, but with the current wearer asleep the straps would have to be manually undone.

So, after taking off his front leg armour and going up to the nest, Breakheart worked carefully to disconnect the strap buckles one by one. Had he had his horn this would be a breeze, but once again, he was reminded of the hardships faced without horned magic.

However, after what felt like an eternity of unbuckling the mask and pausing whenever the filly shifted, he was ready for the hard part; getting it off. Gently lifting her head up; Breakheart did his best to pry the mask off her face without disrupting her.

The entire time reminded him of when he had to pry an arrow-head out of the chest of a fellow Changeling. Unfortunately, the tip got too close to his heart and the Changelings veins soon ran dry. Fortunately, this time, the operation wasn’t medical, but it didn’t stop the screams in Breakheart’s head. But in a little less than a minute, the mask was off.

Then Breakheart saw it. The reason the filly was so quiet, and possibly pleased to be with an enemy of the Crystal Nationalists. Her mouth had been sewn shut. Upon a second reconfirming glance, the edges of her mouth were also cut to produce a scarred smile.

Breakheart’s mind started racing on how to find who did this and of what to do to such a creature.

“Captain Breakheart?” a voice from behind came and snapped him out from his mind, “I came to get the glass from your back.”

“Medic Stitches, your timing couldn’t have been anymore of an ex Machina moment. And forget the glass for now this filly needs you more!” Breakheart said moving aside to show the medic Changeling. Whose eyes widened at the sight of the filly.

“What kind of monster would do that to its own kind, a child no less.” Stitches said in disgusted wonder.

“The kind we declared war on. Now can you fix her without waking her?” Breakheart anxiously asked.

“I can, but I’ll need to put her under anesthesia for that, and the pain of course. But her scars will not be undoable.” Stitches said with professional calmness, then looking at Breakheart, “although you know well about unhealable scars.”

“Jus- Just do what needs to be done to make sure she can operate as my assistant.”

“Rrright, I’ll go grab that surgical equipment.” As Stitches started his way out past the small sack of apples he had brought in, he turned his head, “And Captain, you may want some rest, even we need our rest to work properly.” With that, he walked out of Breakheart’s chamber and flew towards his own.

Listening until the buzz of wings faded Breakheart started to pace in short bursts. First towards the filly, then towards the exiting wall, then towards the desk, then towards a pile of scrolls, and repeating this with no true order for a few moments before finally he collapsed on the floor. It had been a while since he actually slept. On the floor his mind raced 20 hours, two days, two weeks?

Time was hard to keep track of time underground. Especially in the self-isolation of study. Breakheart started to feel his eyes get heavy as he lay on his stomach on the ground. His last thoughts before they finally shut was how much a pony would demand in trade for a clock.

[(<>)]

*Bam* *Bam* *Bam*

Breakheart found himself in a crater as Changelings rained from the sky in their green hell flame-bombs as they crashed into the cobbled street before pouncing out of the smoke to chase an unknown enemy. All around Breakheart the sounds of battle seemed to be in full swing.

Looking around, he felt as if he knew this city from before, but he couldn't remember what city had ivory buildings that seemed to all be leaning in towards him.

Putting his ungue to his head to try to beat the memory back in he felt a helmet, but not a familiar one. This helmet stung as if it had small spikes on it. Starting to take it off, it acted as if were attached to the front of his head. Reaching up to the spot let him know he had a horn, but not his old one. Rather it was two horns which joined close to his head and spiraled one another into a sharp point at the tip.

Then, looking at himself he saw that he was not him. Rather he saw a Changeling body with six legs, four holeless wings, and encased in a blood red suit of spiked armour.

“What do you want? For them to ask you to attack?” the rough voice of Zhelezo asked but looking up Breakheart saw himself. At least himself with the Swarms old black and green flags for eyes, fire protruding from his throat, and blood dripping from every natural hole found on the Changeling.

“I’m coming. I’m coming” Breakheart responded starting to climb out of the crater.

*slap*

“That will be ‘Yes Sir’, drone. Remember your place!” the Zhelezo Breakheart spat bitterly, “Now onwards, FOR THE SWARM!”

Off he ran into the smoke that was starting to consume the street.

As Breakheart made his way out of the crater, the smoke had almost taken possession of the surrounding block. All except for a clear path way down the centre of the road.

Running through the smoke, the sound of a heated battle raged louder and louder. Then he found himself in a clearing, almost a perfect circle void of the smoke and absent of sound.

Forward he walked, until at the centre… *gasp*

The noise came from behind.

Turning around, Breakheart found himself face-to-face with a charcoal pony in armour that shown like the sun.

With little hesitation Breakheart lunged at the pony, horns first. Mid-flight he began to wonder where he had felt this may have happened before.

That thought quickly left when it was replaced with a splitting pain to his head as the pony threw a rounding punch into the flying Changeling.

To the ground to the left of the pony he skidded to a stop, his horns landing a few feet in front of him.

Instinctively, he crawled to them. The taste of blood swirling in his mouth creating a burning choke in his throat with every inch made.

Upon reaching them Breakheart had built up a hatred towards the pony behind him.

As he reached for his horns, his face was slammed into the ground, creating several cracks in his facial chitin and cutting the softer areas with rocks that got between the plates. Next thing he knew was an unmeasurable pain on his back. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that the pony was tearing out his wings.

Soon his vision was turned red with a blind rage towards the pony who merely saw him as a ‘pest’.

Bucking the pony off his back, Breakheart grabbed his horns in his mouth and launched them at the pony’s chest. This attack the pony dodged but distracted by the flying horns it did not see the enraged Changeling pouncing with teeth bared.

Before it knew what was happening, Breakheart had ripped a hole in its neck and dragged it down onto its back. This was followed by a continuous hammering of its unprotected stomach with Breakheart’s front legs.

Before long, the pony was no more than a bloodied pulp. The life had drained from its unblinking eyes and no love was produced from the unbeating heart.

Looking down, Breakheart saw that he was coated in the pony’s blood, but this thought was lost when he heard a sniffle from behind. Looking at where the sound came from revealed a small orange filly on the ground; his horns lodged in her right eye.

Going towards her caused her to flail back in fear. Seeing how he had just brutally killed her guardian, that was easy to understand. Still, he felt that he needed to aid her so that she would not bleed out. But with each step he took, she took two away.

Eventually, frightened and seeing no way out, the filly plunged her head face first into to ground. Breakheart rushed to the small limp body, but he knew even before he turned her around that his horns were now embedded completely into her skull.

But turning the small body yielded one surprize. The filly on the ground was now tan. With a smile cut on her face.

])><([

Up Breakheart jumped, tossing up a blanket that had been placed upon him into the air.

Looking around, he knew it was just another nightmare as he was back in his body with his armour placed in a corner, but his jacket was nowhere to be found.

Leaning on the stone desk to regain his composer, he saw a tan thing in his nest. At this he remembered the filly that he had adopted the night before.

Still shaking, he inched his way to her. Looking in the nest revealed that the thread had been removed from her mouth and that her wounds had been washed. Her breathing also appeared to be in normal rhythms.

Trotting over to the sack of apples near the door, Breakheart noticed a bowl of the ‘love’ mixture along with a note next to it.

Looking close at the note, it translated,

“To Captain Breakheart: From Medic Stitches.
I am reporting that all of the glass has been successfully removed from your torso and lower neck.
Added, at your request, the filly has been unsewn and her wounds disinfected. We trust that you know what is best for the Commune involving this pony.
As per medical experience, I would advice you to avoid any activity that may further damage your shell for at least two weeks. Also make sure to eat your love rations, we all need to be able to perform our duties.
-EX UNO MULTA

Post Script: One of the pony orchard workers was killed during a fight between him and another stallion. We have collected that it was over the rights to “pleasure themselves” with a mare. The surviving stallion and the mare in question have been drained of their ‘love’ and will be sent back to work with the next rotation.”

After reading the note Breakheart couldn't help but chuckle. It seemed that time and time again that the Nationalists’ pride and anger would lead to inward fighting over the pettiest of issues. Indeed, this was not the first fight over mating privileges, and it most likely wouldn't be the last. But nothing would ever beat the time that three of them got in a bone breaking fight over what they considered “the perfect apple”.

With the thought of food, Breakheart’s stomach started to beg for the love rations.

Picking the side of his bowl up in his teeth, he tilted it so that the contents would slide right into his mouth between his fangs. The taste had a slight burn to it which he, and most changelings, found almost irresistible. And as it slid down his throat, he could feel the distributed love magnetise towards his heart.

“Oh yeah. That beats silently sucking it out of the air any day,” then smelling his breath as he spoke, “and good thing that I won’t be going out anytime soon."

With a full heart and stomach, he picked up the sack of apples and placed it next to the nest with the sleeping filly. Opening the sack up showed that Stitches, or possibly Gaster, had picked four plump red apples for the filly.

Suddenly a thought popped into Breakheart’s mind, “If the filly recently had damage done to her mouth a whole apple would cause more damage. That’s just simple science. A knife will work though. A knife to cut slices that a little mouth can nibble.”

Without hesitation, Breakheart was out of his chamber and in the vertical hall running up the wall. At the top, he launched into the air and landed smoothly enough in the straight hall to continue at an uninterrupted trot.

About a quarter down the hall on the left, Breakheart reached the armoury. Inside was an assortment of swords, shields, spears, armour, and countless other pieces needed to build an army four times the number the outpost had now. Most of this collection was counted as ‘spoils of war’ and told of the Changelings many victories. Or just told about how long this weapons had been hoarded.

In a rush to find a moderate knife in the forest of blades, Breakheart hardly took notice of the group of Changelings testing out a prototype for a portable rapid-loose bow.

“Ah, Comrade Captain Breakheart, how nice it is for you to re-join the world of the living.” Said a voice rough enough to belong to only one Changeling, “Would you like to see our new toy?”

“Thank you Lieutenant Zhelezo, but I believe that I will pass.” Breakheart responded while still searching for the appropriate blade.

Levitating the weapon in front of Breakheart’s face, “Are you sure you don’t want to have some fun with the new equalizer, Comrade Captain?"

The weapon as Breakheart saw, was a block of wood for a main base and another thinner one sticking into it. The front had small bows crossed to make an X with their strings going into the base and a hole in the centre to let the arrows out.

“It is an amazing thing, is it not? Just one of these can make a simple drone worth 10 armoured ponies, 20 with an addition of magic arrows. Comrade Captain.” Zhelezo went on excitedly.

Finding a small espionage knife sticking into a nearby table, Breakheart replied while scooting over, “As much as I would enjoy seeing this, uh, thing. I must be going.” Grabbing the knife in his mouth, “ewou mnuowh, memmy dings dou cuud.”

Before Zhelezo could even ask what Breakheart had said, he was already out into the hall.

Into the chamber Breakheart entered knife in mouth. Trotting over to his desk he gently placed the knife down.

“Huh?” came a confused sound from the nest.

Breakheart assumed that he must not have been as gentle as he wished to be. So, he used this time to welcome the filly properly, “I see you’re up, I hope you rested well.”

“Wher- OuUesh” the filly started but stopped in pain. Naturally she put he hooves up to where the cut smile was.

Worried that she may hurt herself, Breakheart soothed, “Shh. Take it easy, you’ve been through a lot. You’re here with us Changelings now, those bad ponies can’t get you now.”

At this the filly’s eyes darted around confirming that she was indeed inside of a cave. Her eyes stopped dead on the knife on the desk. Breakheart immediately knew she was thinking of a worst-case scenario.

“Don’t worry that’s to cut the apples so you can eat.” Breakheart motioned towards the sack near the filly. “If you’re hunger now, I can cut you some slices.”

The filly’s glance bounced uncertainly between Breakheart and the sack of apples. All that Breakheart could do was give a nervous smile as the filly tried to decipher a possible lie.

Eventually, her hunger caught up with her when an audible grumble erupted from her stomach. Pushing the sack forward she nodded at Breakheart as if to say, “you win”.

As Breakheart sliced the apple, he could sense the filly shutter with each cut. “Don’t worry. Most of the stories you’ve heard of us are probably embellished,” at that the first apple was sliced into 10 equal slices, “now come on over and eat, knowing the ponies who hurt you; you probably haven’t had a bite in days.”

Over the filly came still eyeing Breakheart, who found it odd considering how she had clung to him the night before. And though hesitant at first, she quickly devoured the slices, all without a sound.

“Still hungry?” Breakheart asked. To which she sheepishly nodded.

So once more, Breakheart sliced an apple into 10 equal pieces; and again, she ate quickly without a sound. The cycle continued until all the apples were gone.

As the filly was eating the last apple, Breakheart silently spoke to himself, “What a big appetite for such a small creature. Although, what am I going to do when I have to leave this room before she’s fully loyal to us? Hmmm. Oh. Gaster seemed to be ok with her, and since he mostly does the odd jobs he’ll be free enough to do it.”

However, if order to find Gaster, he would have to leave the filly alone temporarily. A risk that he could take.

As he was walking out Breakheart turned to the filly, “I need to go grab something. Is there anything I could get you?”

At this, the filly made the pantomime of chilled. It was obviously colder in a sealed empty cavern than a cabin full of ponies.

“Got it, a blanket. Use that one there on the floor and I’ll get you another thicker one.” and with that said Breakheart was out and looking for Gaster.

After a few minutes of looking, Breakheart eventually found Gaster near the prisoner wing of the Commune.

As he was walking towards Gaster, Breakheart noticed that he was helping two other Changelings to get a recently deceased Nationalist ready to be buried. For Changelings, this meant wrapping the body in a leaf wrap and burying the pony vertically with a tree seed on top the head. This allowed the sprouting tree to grow faster and healthier while also being a great way to dispose of bodies.

“So, this is the pony that died in a fight recently?” Breakheart asked rhetorically.

“Yes sir.” Answered a Changeling named Bacjac as he wrapped the top of the pony’s head.

“And let me guess, they were all related in some way.” Breakheart stated almost certain of the answer.

With a laugh, Bacjac replied, “Ha, they all pretty much are. This one was killed by his second cousin for their first cousin. It seems that their culture revolves around making family sticks instead of trees.”

"Blind pride with nothing to be proud about can corrupt creatures into doing things which will ultimately destroy them, but that’s enough of their bigot politics. I came to ask Gaster to help with a different job.”

At hearing his name, Gaster bounced out of his wrapping trance and was standing at attention before Breakheart in no time at all.

“That’s right Gaster, I have a special job for one of your talents. Come with me and I’ll fill you in.”

As they walked, Breakheart told Gaster of his job and why it was important. Gaster, naturally, had no objections and was eager to please.

Remembering the Filly’s request, Breakheart took a detour to the supply station of the commune to retrieve a blanket for her.

On their way down the vertical hall though, they heard trouble below.

*crash*

Running down and into Breakheart’s chamber, they found the nest and desk void of any life. Then another crash to their left.

Looking there revealed the filly in a pile of armour, obviously embarrassed at the situation.

“Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.” Said Gaster losing excitement for his new chore.