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                          Tenant                           
                   -by Mr Unidentified-                    
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                          Tenant                           
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Tenant
It was a wet, and cool summer morning in the Agrarian-Urban sprawl that was Bales. A gentle mist blankets to and fro cobblestone streets, sidewalks, small parks, and small pastures that were anchored to farmsteads. It was a quiet morning, with hardly any noise pollution whatsoever. Ponies gallivanted about, greeting strangers with mirth and politeness as if they were well-known acquaintances. A few pony-drawn carriages coasted slowly along the wet streets.
It was a morning like every other morning that Celestia always blessed Equestria with; one that promised a fortuitous future for everyone. It was unwavering, yet not imposing. It quickly seeped its warmth throughout the humid and foggy cityscape, the sun’s orb of illumination striking through the thin cloud cover with ease. It stuck out like a sore talon.
The mornings never felt oppressive or heavy; the pony population took the fog in stride as a sign of the Pegasi being ahead of schedule for the weather. Rather than pessimism, one would look at any event that took fold here in the city with a sense of optimistic foresight. As they always had throughout its history. Although Bales was not one of the original urban metropolises, it had quickly become one of the quickest growing ones in the fertile pastures of Northern-Central Equestria.
Settling in the Southern banks of the two rivers flowing from lake Marechester that eventually converged at where the city was located, Bales was a commercial powerhouse in its youth that led to the quick acclimatization of its settlement. Having its rivers forking out through Manehattan served as an economic boon for the young city, trading downriver with locally-produced amenities that quickly fueled its expansion. The surrounding agriculture feeding the local population ensured the inevitable growth spurt soon after.
Centuries later, the city had grown well accustomed to the finer qualities of life. Not as old as their predecessors perhaps such as Las Pegasus or Fillydelphia, but enough to cement themselves in the Equestrian Economy at least somewhat. With many new prominent industry contracts issued by the heads of states in the decades before the Royal Wedding of 1002, the city of Bales had been in the midst of a second golden age much similar to its first when Manehattan initially became their trading partners.
The city was still full of life, and growing fast. It showed progress, promise, jubilance of the most innocent kind. But perhaps above all of them all—Hope. Hope for the future.
The Young Changeling didn’t know what to make of it.
He had been holed up in his bedroom inside the worn-down apartment home of 4-D; the 4th room on the right side of the 4th-floor hallway. The apartment complex was small, barely about 30 meters in width parallel to the street. The Express elevator served as the only means of getting up and down the levels unless you were a Pegasi. The only interiors this apartment boasted was a reception desk with an elevator and heading to any floor but the main floor would reveal a dimly lit hallway made of old plywood, doors dotting the walls leading into apartments
The apartment the changeling was renting in contained nothing to boast about. It had a leather couch for three, but the changeling never had anypony else with him inside his home at any given time. Two double-hung windows revealed the brick and concrete jungle outside, the street in front of the apartment still bustling with life as carriages and automobiles coast by. The bedroom door remained shut, hardly ever being used except when at night. The only thing that was worthy of note was a radio sitting atop an end table, which played piano and soft brass almost constantly due to being tuned to the Jazz Channel.
A small kitchen with a built-in counter that led neatly to the refrigerator, cupboards nailed into the walls above said counter for storing dishes. There was another counter just a little way in front of the refrigerator, which hosted the sink and led nicely to a walled compartment that hosted a door. Inside revealed shelves that hosted various dried foods and other amenities.
A lime green aura had levitated a coffee tin from the pantry and closed the door shut by the knob. After pouring the grounded contents into the filter—and the water into the rear compartment—the Changeling tapped the red button on the base of the contraption with a small sigh.
It had been approximately 27 months since he had run away. The journey to make it to Equestria itself wasn’t too difficult, but staying here undetected proved to be a razor’s edge that he still trots upon day-in and day-out. It took a good amount of love to stay alive this long. But this changeling was… different, somehow. Whether by an intuitive intervention from some divine presence or perhaps an emancipated epiphany from the inner labyrinths of his mind, this Changeling sought to live a life in Equestria by himself without the prying eyes of Queen Chrysalis.
Not a life of leeching and parasitical draining, but a life of peaceful exile—to hide in plain sight living off of the jubilant energies of the pony populace.
It proved to be his greatest supplement thus far, with him not once being questioned on who he was, where he came from, and why he was here to give the allusion of him being a Changeling. (except for a few job interviews, of which he would fabricate an intricate backstory.) Of course, he had to shapeshift to make these arrangements possible, but he made do with it.
The best thing about being a convincing pony is that everypony treats one another with amicable optimism. Kindness, mirth, empathy; love. It was everywhere and easy to acquire, hardly requiring any energy to maintain his pony form whenever necessary.
It was essentially a constant surplus of the Changeling’s love pool. One he keenly took advantage of with no detriment to the pony populace. A symbiotic relationship in its simplest form for the Changeling. He would work for his pay at his job working for the newspapers, living off the energies of the populace as the days go by, earning his pay by the week to ensure financial stability.
But the reasoning as to why he left was lost onto him. He had only vague memories of hardship and relentless obedience in all things related to the state, and he remembered how much he had loathed it. He remembered a small, but discreetly vocal contingent of the Changeling populace feeling the same way he felt; oppressed, and without a voice. And to him, the Changeling would rather do nothing but forget about his painful past.
Bubbling noises broke the Changeling’s train of thought. He turned to find the coffee machine nearing its zenith of the brewing, bubbling like mad as the contraption finished with mixing the grounded coffee with hot water. The black-liquid substance oozed gently into the pot below it, steaming and overall pleasantly satisfying to marvel at.
Tapping the button on the side again, the contraption soon ceased altogether as the brewing process was finally complete. Using his magic, the Changeling eagerly poured the contents of the liquid dark into his mug, a smile widening his lips as steam billowed out of both the pot and the mug.
After a few minutes of adding sugar and creamer followed by intensive stirring, the cup was finished but nowhere near cool enough to drink yet. Still levitating the mug, he casually sat down in one of the lounge chairs facing away from the windows. Gently hopping up to sit on his haunches, the Changeling allowed himself to sink deep into its cushions with ease and comfort. A euphoric tingling sensation traveling his spine as he did so.
For a moment, he just sat there. Closing his eyes. Not moving a muscle except for his diaphragm to breathe. The only sound that was heard was the creaking of his chair.
He inhaled again, this time slowly and with undivided attention. At the zenith of his breath, he held it. He sat upright, perfectly straight as a plank and motionless. He saw nothing but his black eyelids. He heard nothing but the music from the radio and his heartbeat. He smelled nothing but Hazelnut from the steaming mug of Coffee gingerly held. He felt nothing but Suede upon his chitin.
And finally, with all the willpower that his mind could… he takes a careful sip of his mug, not moving any singular cell in his body.
And he could taste nothing but liquid rejuvenation, sweet yet with a careful mix of bitterness to perfectly accentuate the sugary taste. Not thin to slide down his tongue easily, but not thick enough for him to struggle to swallow. Not too cool to be unsatisfying, yet just underneath the tipping point of too hot.
Afterward, he swallowed. And everything seemed still.
And it was only then that he finally exhaled. Amidst the torpor, he felt total chemical bliss.
Tap tap, tap-tap-tap.
It wasn’t meant to last.
It took whatever iota of self-restraint the Changeling had to not groan aloud in frustration. Although Innocuous, the curt knocking was more than enough to send the Changeling into a petulant cycle of muttered insults; fueled by a tendency to gripe about what happened to be felicitous to ruining this particular moment. As if the perpetrator was Cognizant of his schedule.
Still grumbling and swearing under his breath, the Changeling set down his mug upon the end table near the radio and took a few moments to calm himself down. Seconds later, warm energy coursed through his being as a green aura surrounded him. Then came a green arcane fire, as the Changeling was now replaced by a Cobalt Unicorn with a beige mane and tail.
Tap Tap Tap!
“I know, I know.” The Unicorn mumbled to nopony in particular. With his magic now the same color as his coat, the door clicked open to reveal… well, nopony he recognized. Just a courier Pegasus. Lime-green coat, a mane, and tail that is tripped blue on green.
“Good Morning, Sea Breeze.” The Mailpony cheerfully greeted, giving pause to the Unicorn.
“Morning... Do I know you?” the Unicorn asked with a yawn.
“No, but I have your name on my list—so I know you~” The pegasus pointed a wingtip at him, her voice in a sing-song tone.
“... Right,” he answered atonally.
“Oh, did I catch you in your sleep? I apologize if I did, you seem… grouchy.”
“No, I’m just not expecting a knock this early in the morning.”
“Well, that’s understandable. But I apologize for interrupting you, it's been a busy day today.” she chuckled.
“Do you have something for me?” the Unicorn asked, trying his best not to sound rude.
“Oh yeah, silly me. This is for you.” the Pegasus pointed below her leg. And lo and behold, there was in fact a cardboard box no bigger than a pony’s head sitting on the floor. Somehow, the Unicorn never saw it until then.
“Just sign here for me please.” she extended another wing, which deftly held a clipboard with a pen attached to its clip. A soft sigh, a few scribbles of identity theft later, and he was done.
“Here you go, a gift from work.” the box was exchanged. “Have a good day!”
“Uh… yeah.” the Unicorn dumbly responded, watching her walk away. With a shake of a head, he closed and locked the door. He soon lost his disguise afterward, not wanting to waste his Love.
The Changeling didn’t wait to pry his hooves into his package. Whoever it was that decided he was going to grace him with a package should at least be dealt the common courtesy of having that package being immediately open. With a knife from the kitchen, he cut through the tape seal and pried it open, revealing a superfluous amount of styrofoam. Digging beneath and making a mess, he felt something soft and silky on the inside.
Gingerly and gently, he pulled the first item out. It was a hat. And not just any hat, and pretty soft and nice-looking fedora, bearing a grey and black vertical striping in its polyester-cotton fabric. The second item was a torso coat, bearing the same pattern of stitching and coloring.
The changeling allowed himself to smile warmly. And he felt something inside that was strangely familiar yet unknown to him. It felt distinctly warm. And fulfilling. He felt this sensation before, but he could never figure out exactly what that sensation is.
There was no denying that it felt objectively good, though.
Deciding to handle his new gift with care, the Changeling folded his coat neatly and planted it upon the chair, his hat sitting atop of it.
A gift from work, he thought to himself. He reminded himself to thank whoever it was at the studio that gave him this later on.
Cleaning up the styrofoam mess that spread all over his carpet, the Changeling felt warm and good… but also felt a premonition.
He couldn’t help but feel like something wasn’t “ordinary”. He shook his head and continued to pick up the styrofoam, placing it into the box before closing it shut again. Using his magic, he sat the box atop the kitchen counter to put a pin on it for later.
Still, though, he could not shake that same premonition. It actually tingled in his stomach, as if it was indigestion. He felt like he was forgetting something, but his mind refused to cooperate for a moment. Thinking to himself, his mind was running a mile a minute but it felt like it was running in circles.
Then it clicked. For all this time, he heard nothing.
Absolutely nothing. It was dead silent in his home. The Changeling couldn’t for the life of him remember when it got so quiet.
Looking down at the end table with his radio and coffee, he heard nothing from the speakers. Leaning down and twisting the stereo knob a few times, he heard no change in volume. Twisting the frequency knob, he was rewarded with static but no new broadcast. All the known channels he was switching to were eerily silent and dead.
He twisted onto the frequency he was on beforehoof and twisted the volume knob at the midpoint. Still no change.
“What…” the Changeling muttered aloud to himself.
He had seen dead channels before but never where all of the channels suddenly went dead at any given time before. This was the first time he was seeing that, and it unnerved him deeply.
Finally, after several minutes of twisting the knob, he was startled by a new sound that was suddenly played. It sounded like an alarm, but never like an alarm he had ever heard. It was consistent, with precisely one second of silence in between each buzz. It sounded like an infected elk, crying out its last dying breath. Over, and over again.
The alarm finally subsided and was replaced by another noise that didn’t sound much better than its predecessor. It was more mechanical in nature like a telephone line suddenly went dead and all one would hear was the dead ring until you hung up. It droned on and on for several seconds, seemingly content with playing forever.
Until it stopped once again. The radio ceased playing altogether. For a moment, the Changeling wondered if the radio somehow turned off on its own.
As he hesitantly reached for the volume knob, the speakers once again startled him by unceremoniously blaring to life. This time it was replaced by a monotone, robotic voice. It was horribly stuttering, never sounding like an actual creature that one would converse with.
“Attention! in—FIVE Minutes—all transmittable frequencies will broadcast a special Civil Alert that will be transmitted from—Canterlot. It is strongly advised every individual with a functioning radio—and-or—Television—is to tune in to this broadcast. This will be played in—ALL—stations, and—ALL—frequencies. Please Stand By.”
When it finished, the Changeling was still left with more questions than answers. He had seen a civil Alert Broadcast before, but never on a scale such as this. The use of such broadcasts had never before been associated with the whole of Equestria itself.
Whatever was happening right now that demanded the attention of virtually every citizen in the country to tune in to this broadcast, it couldn’t be good at all.
But he knew where to start on figuring out what was happening. The answer sat right in front of him, mute and unflinching until the five-minute timer was up. Then, he would have answers. But what kind remained to be seen.
The Changeling began pacing around in his apartment living room, never once stopping as he trotted to and fro his shaggy carpet. The seconds eventually morphed into minutes, but time seemed to have felt excruciatingly slow. It didn’t pass by fast enough for it to feel like it was merely 5 minutes. It felt like he was waiting for hours.
But finally, after a brief hiatus, the speakers crackled to life once more. There was a static white noise that could be heard as if some kind of interference disrupted the broadcast. It was a dull sound, but impossible to ignore.
Apprehensive silence clung to everything into stillness. The Changeling waited with bated breath. After a few seconds pause, a voice spoke through that he immediately recognized.
“Ponies of Equestria and my loyal subjects,” Princess Celestia spoke.
Yet the manner of how she spoke… hollow, somehow. The changeling had heard her voice before, but to hear it like this—quiet and unsure, calm yet disconnected to herself. It startled him.
A few more seconds of quiet, until the princess cleared her throat to speak up.
The words he heard next would forever horrify him.
“In this grave hour, perhaps the most fateful in our history, I send to every household of my ponies; at home, abroad, and overseas. I send you this message, with the same depth of emotion within each one of you, as if I were able to cross into your threshold and speak to you face to face.
“For the first time in centuries, we are now at war.
“Yesterday, June 22nd, 1011 at 4:45 AM—a date which we will never forget—our peaceful Principality of Equestria was suddenly and deliberately attacked, without provocation and warning, by the military forces of our neighbors, the Changeling Hegemony. We were at peace with the changelings and had been attempting to open diplomatic channels to resolve any disputes along the border without the use of force. I am sorry to say that these efforts have been in vain.
“You can imagine what a bitter blow it is to me that all my long struggle to win peace has failed. Yet I cannot believe that there is anything more, or anything different, that could have been done and that would have been more successful. It is clear that Queen Chrysalis’ intentions have always been to attack our peaceful nation, regardless of any negotiations we could have made with the changeling hives—and that the conquest of Olenia was merely a stepping stone toward her ambitions. Her actions show convincingly that there is no chance of expecting that she will ever give up her practice of using force to gain her will. She can, unfortunately, only be stopped by force.
“The attack yesterday on the Vanhoover Line has caused severe damage to Equestrian military forces. I regret to tell you that very many Equestrian lives have been lost. The facts of yesterday and today speak for themselves. The ponies of Equestria have already formed their opinions and well understand the implications to the very life and safety of our nation. As Princess of Equestria, I have directed that all measures be taken for our defense. No matter how long it may take us to overcome this premeditated invasion, the Equestrian ponies in their righteous belief in harmony and friendship will win through to absolute victory.
“We have tried, time and time again, to find a peaceful solution to this altercation; to find a peaceful way out of our differences and establish a lasting peace. We have a clear conscience. We have done all that any country could do to establish peace. And now that we have a resolve to finish it, I know that you will all play your part with calmness and courage—For I, my sister, my niece, and my faithful can assure you—we will do whatever it takes to protect our ponies and our way of life.
“Thank you, and may the magic of friendship prevail in these dark times.”
His legs were aching in the joints, but he couldn’t stop now.
The cobalt unicorn (or Sea Breeze) trotted along the damp sidewalk at a troubled pace. He might not have been dragging his hooves on the ground, but he certainly wasn’t speed trotting. It was a challenge to make it to his workplace with the number of ponies that were trotting the sidewalks today.
Many ponies had been walking more and more as time passed. Fewer automobiles and carriages were being used for consumer purposes, and instead were sold early on or disassembled somewhere.
He had to profusely apologize as he bumped into several different ponies on his way to the Studio. To say that the press had been busy these last few months would be a gross understatement. They had to work around the clock with overtime on some of their employees to keep up with the newfound demands of the new Administration that is trying to steer the country on the right path.
It was not easy. Many new measures on day-to-day life had been enacted to help alleviate the struggle that was still ongoing. Strict enforcement of new rationing programs; a scheduled curfew time for certain establishments to prevent clot on the main roads; A mandatory conscription lottery—the first in Equestria’s History—to keep up with the increasing demands of the military.
But life still goes on. And Nopony could do anything about it but live, and hope that whatever role they play is more than enough.
Eventually, the Unicorn came around a familiar corner to find one of the few Newspaper Studios of Bales to be sandwiched between a Grocer and a Salon. While not the only studio, to Sea Breeze it felt like his studio were the only ponies that truly cared about trying to tell the events of what was really happening, without any mistruth attached. And as long as he was still confined within the city, there was no way of knowing what exactly was happening on the front.
The Unicorn eventually noticed a strange gathering in front of the studio, of fellow Press Ponies like himself. He trotted with an increased pace, approaching the group as he heard a dull roar of constant chatter.
“Sea Breeze?” one of them called to him.
“What is going on? Why are you all out here?”
Sea Breeze eventually got his answer though, as he noticed all of them were gathering around a large, overly-embellished flyer that was neatly duct-taped onto the front entrance. It boasted bold, cursive writing.
By Royal Decree from Princess Celestia of Equestria;
To all that may concern, we hereby declare that all studios of the press devote their time and resources to maintaining Public Order and Stability. All studios who refuse to comply with the new legislative standards of the Wartime Administration will be permanently shut down until further notice.
“Permanently!?” someone yelled aloud. “What… what happened to freedom of the press?”
“Aye, it’s a fucking travesty this!”
“They can’t do this to us, we’ll be put out of the job for weeks! I won’t be able to feed myself!”
“Payday was fucking tomorrow!”
“I can’t work in a factory, I didn’t sign up for this!”
Noise. Confusion. Rage.
Sea Breeze understood the implications but didn’t know how to react. He was left staring in dumbfound horror as the cold, suffocating realization sunk in that he was out of a job. No bits to restock his already dwindling pantry. And he didn’t even gloss over how expensive the bills would be now that he was unemployed.
It didn’t make sense.
Nothing made sense anymore.
“It’s those fucking Changelings! They keep ruining everything for us!”
“Why can’t Princess Celestia just use her magic and vaporize them out of existence?”
“Her magic doesn’t work that way, moron!”
“Fuck the Changelings!”
“This is all their fault!”
Sea Breeze retreated from the growing crowd silently, dipping his head to avoid confrontation. He felt a sickly, and painful vice gripping his inner being as he continued to stay there. It wasn’t just agonizingly uncomfortable, it was unbearably painful.
To be surrounded by such hate.
It reminded him why he left the Hives in the first place.
It didn’t take long for him to return home after that event, as he stood alone in the express elevator heading up to his level. After another minute or so, he locked the door behind him and lost his disguise once more. He collapsed onto his bed with stiff muscles and sore bones, and with what felt like indigestion kicking him on the insides.
It was getting more and more difficult to maintain this facade. Everypony still had love to idly bask in, but it only exists as a form of comradery in hard times. If you could even call it love, it was a kind of love only born out of a common enemy. And he was one of those said enemies. It did not bode well with his mind, and so his mind couldn’t accept that this was love. Thus, it became more difficult to play this game of deception.
…
… Three Months.
It had been three damned months since this war began, and nothing seems to have improved. And he could do nothing but watch as a striding doom encroaches closer and closer towards him.
… He had to wonder.
If the Changelings found him in Bales, if they ever made it there…
Would they treat him any better than the Equestrians treated the Changelings?
… Probably not.
Bullets. Strayed out in front of him in a never-ending conveyer belt laid a gargantuan amount of bullets.
Sea Breeze used his magic to pick up a stray one now and then to check for ineptitudes; if the Primer was inserted incorrectly; if the weight was lighter than normal, indicating no Gunpowder; if the casing itself was amalgamated in whatever way.
He found nothing of the sort and lazily tossed it onto the belt.
Standing in a line that had about a pony’s length of distance between each worker, about 10 or so other ponies were working on the same belt to check for ineptitudes of bullets. If such dud bullets were found, they would be separated and eventually re-processed from their primitive form into a proper bullet. And it was absolutely imperative that they would find any anomalies on the belt to prevent a catastrophic discharge of such a fraudulent bullet, lest they want the troops to have an even harder time than they do already.
And inside the foundry where he stood to work day in and day out, it was a labyrinth of mechanical contraptions. More conveyor belts stretched across the bottom floor, with certain wings of the entire foundry still being locked behind well-guarded doors that boasted armed ponies.
It was dimly lit to save power, and the cacophony was always unbearable. Everywhere around him he heard the constant “clinks”of bullets colliding one another, followed by incoherent yelling of orders now and then.
It was a horrible place to be employed in.
But he had no choice in every sense of the word. Not because he was forcefully obligated to, but because it was necessary for his survival. Having been thrown out of his press job three months ago, he since had to rely on the Soup Kitchens that were miraculously giving away free food since the war’s outbreak for sustenance.
Not the food, mind you; Changelings can live for a long while without food if necessary.
It was love.
Being a Changeling in Equestria, the first thing he had realized during his long stay here incognito was that it was immensely better to feed off of love from those that are willing to share. For all that their people have known, they had to forcefully leech it out of their beings, but he inadvertently found another way. Simply being in good company, even if they were unaware of his true identity, would serve as a sort of life force for him. It was keeping him relatively sane, and very healthy.
The Soup Kitchens lines only continued to grow as time passed, and ponies were suffering from the apparent martial law that was instituted. They too were thrown out of work, just like much of the rest of this city that hadn’t subjected themselves to a life of abhorrent work in a dangerous factory filled with live munitions.
Or to live on the frontlines.
It felt impossibly weird for the disguised Changeling to be in the current predicament that he is in now, working for his people’s natural enemy.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
The distinctly loud call-bell that stood above the conveyors in a balcony rang out in rhythmic succession, immediately grabbing everypony’s attention.
“D-Group, Lunch Time!”
At the sound of that order, Sea Breeze’s conveyor belt ceased moving altogether, and several coworkers sprung into action to quickly get in line first for their meals. Sea Breeze lazily followed behind through the guarded double doors, trading a tentative glance to a guard that was toting a Limestone-SMG. He looked bored.
The cacophony of rampant chatter soon replaced the sound of clinking bullets in the short hallway that D-group was trotting through. They eventually made it to a large atrium where metal long tables with integrated benches laid strung out in a symmetrical pattern. The servery counter just to the side of it was already filled with some of the first contenders before the majority of the group had found their seats.
Sea Breeze didn’t bother, he simply got in line behind whoever he was following and waited patiently, never once saying a word in all the times he did so. As he waited in line and idly stared at the food behind the glass window, he couldn’t help but sigh aloud.
It was the same thing as always. Hay, Celery, Oatmeal, with a choice of drink for milk or water.
Not bad really, all things considered. But it had never changed, and it seemed it never will.
Sea Breeze closed his eyes and took in on all of his perceived senses. He smelled the maple-brown sugar of the oatmeal mixed with milk. He could hear the sounds of idle chatter, soon overlapping the entire cafeteria in a dull roar. He could feel the stillness of the temperature, and compared to being stuck in that stuffy over-cramped workshop it felt like airborne-rejuvenation.
Opening his eyes again, he saw… ugliness.
And it wasn’t a subjective perception of ugly, it was the kind of ugly that one would look at and say:
“This wall needs a mural.”
Sea Breeze froze instantly after he spoke under his breath, his natural voice slipping out along with his tongue.
He took a few idle glances around, slowly to not draw attention. No prying eyes were looking at him. Nopony spoke up. Nopony turned to look at him.
In fact, it seemed like everypony didn’t even want to acknowledge him. Like he didn’t exist.
“Hey!”
A voice snapped his attention. It was one of the servers.
“Wha’y’wan?” He spoke in a strange dialect.
“O-oatmeal and milk.” Sea Breeze stuttered, quick to change his tone to sound more ponish.
The server simply compiled and gave him his meal without uttering another word.
Sea Breeze didn’t waste any more time afterward and simply trotted on. He looked around for an empty table to sit in, of which there were plenty. He just had to find one that sat close to whatever particularly loud group of ponies happened to be talking.
He did this to feed himself, of course. It would be his main source of love for the day, to eavesdrop on idle chatter of better times. It had happened before on a whim when he sat by himself one day just like many days, but his ears were astute.
The first conversation he could remember eavesdropping was talking about how a worker misses his son, who fought and died on the frontline. The table around him quickly came to console him after the revelation.
Since then, he had done everything he could to keep eavesdropping on conversations such as that; ones where the talkers are reciprocal of one another in a form of comradery, or a common bond in hard times.
It was better than the food at times. And certainly better than nothing.
Sea Breeze idly chewed, but mainly listened. He eventually caught a conversation in his ears.
“... not like I hadn’t considered it, it’s just that I don’t see that as a probability. More like a slight possibility.”
“You of all ponies don’t see that as a probability? Really? Come on dude!”
“Look look, let’s say you are saying it's a ‘probability’, just how probable exactly?”
“From a scale of 1 to 10 chance, you mean?” A pause. “About a 6”
“What!?”
“Bullshit!”
“Oh yeah right!”
“Here? Whatever.”
“No, I’m serious! Think about it, if the changelings already got past Tall Tales-”
“A babap, Shhhhhh!”
A sudden outburst of noise and shushing.
“Are you fucking mad, copper? You can’t just be spouting off shite like that man!”
“Loose lips cost lives.” somepony muttered under their breath.
This conversation sounded like it was going nowhere.
“Fuck them…” someone idly mumbled. “Every last one of those fucking bugs, fuck all of them.”
“They won’t win. Celestia and Luna will see to that.”
“Aye. To the princesses.”
A few clinks of metal cups could be heard, as they shared an impromptu toast.
There it was. Just a fleeting moment of it, but it was there. Love.
Sea Breeze relished in it silently, smiling to himself just a little as he felt his being get just a little bit warmer.
And then it passed.
The moment was so fleeting that he almost didn’t notice it sneak away on him. It left as quickly as it arrived.
All that was left was a bittersweet feeling that he didn’t quite know how to process.
“If this war ever keeps going, do you think we could forgive their race?”
Now there was a question that nopony, even Sea Breeze, had heard before.
“W-Whaddaya mean?”
“I mean if the war drags on longer than we think… and we still win. What happens to the Changelings next?”
“Well, I say we burn their fucking hives to the ground so they don’t do this again.”
“Exactly my point.” the pony inquirer replied. “It’s just like Twilight said.”
A slight pause.
“Violence begets more violence.”
Nopony possessed a proper response to such a phrase. Except for one.
“Well, does friendship beget more friendship?” someone asked, speaking the word with all the contempt he could muster.
“Because look where that got us.”
Somepony had died in an accident outside the foundry today.
The details are hazy, and the supervisors are not sating anypony’s curiosity. But the likely story from the workers says he committed suicide by jumping in front of a moving automobile. Rumour has it that he was in a financial death spiral, and his family was already mostly killed by the war anyway.
Again though, the details are hazy. And at the end of the day, nopony cared for the body of the worker. He would simply remain wherever he was until the coroner collected him. To everypony else, it was a moment they’d like to forget.
Sea Breeze, however, was ticking and twitching on the inside with nervous, manic energy.
Sea Breeze had to wait until their lunchtime came before he could make a move. He planned to slip away during lunch, and make it outside through the utility parking lot via subterfuge. It shouldn’t be too difficult as long as he had a solid alibi.
He was going to find that dead worker.
The bells clang, the signal was given, and the herd was once again on the move. Sea Breeze followed closely behind one of the leading ponies in the group, having to shove himself forward by squeezing through a few ponies in the crowd.
When they made it to the atrium, he looked quickly for the hallway that contained the bathroom. It delved off behind a corner of the Atrium, standing next to them is one of the double doors leading directly outside. It was guarded at all times.
But Sea Breeze knew what to do with them.
Delving around the corner that led to the bathrooms, he had found an empty stall that he would sit and occupy. There he waited, as other ponies came and went to handle their business. Sea Breeze waited.
Until finally, he was entirely alone.
Peeking behind the stall doors and peeking underneath the stall walls, Sea Breeze honed his magic. A green, fire-like aura enveloped him, as he shapeshifted from Sea Breeze, into his Maroon-tinted supervisor “Brass Screws”, wearing his special uniform.
Sea Breeze left with haste as he quickly exited the bathroom. Miraculously, he bumped into nopony else until he reached the double doors. There, one of the guards gave him an idle glance.
“... whatcha doing, sir?” one of them asked.
“Getting something from my car.” Brass idly replied.
“... I didn’t think you had a car.”
Brass locked his movement momentarily as if thinking for a rebuttal.
“... Well, I do now. Just bought it recently.”
Neither of them cared enough to ask. They simply rolled their eyes and continued to stare into space.
Brass allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief while trotting through. There, he was greeted to a clear blue sky that boasted ugly, black columns of smoke emitting from the foundry. There were parked automobiles, and parked wooden wagons that sat beneath a roofed parking spot—a sort of shed that boasted no walls, and only a roof.
And laying in one of those wagons, unguarded and virtually untouched, laid Brass Screws prize.
He wasted no time, making his way there beneath the shade of the shed. He could smell it as he got closer and closer, and it was not pleasant in the slightest. He did a double-take from the wagon and from behind, to ensure nopony was looking or following him.
There, he ducked out of sight behind the crude wagon. Slowly, he trotted to the rear end of the wagon. Towards the sound of buzzing flies.
And there he was. The dead worker from the accident.
He looked battered and bruised, his limbs tangled in one another. His coat lost its vibrancy of Red, matted and watered down like old recycled coffee. His milky lifeless eyes stare helplessly into nothingness, one of them shut closed.
It felt positively revolting for him to be near a dead body like so, especially one that was still fresh from the same day. And it disgusted him even more for the heinous act he was about to commit.
But he was desperate. He felt his being physically shrivel up as he went on this drought. The Eavesdropping conversations weren’t as supplemental as they had been, and he was running out of options.
He needed love. And he needed it now.
So he wasted no time as to suck all the residual love that was still clinging onto his soul, feasting every last iota of it. Ethereal wisps of pinkish-energy billowed out of his lifeless corpse. The body of the worker physically shriveled up and decayed as he continued to leech.
The Changeling, still disguised as Brass Screws, made quick work of the love still trapped within, finishing as fast as he could.
Its taste was unfathomably unbearable. And it made him gag multiple times as he continued.
But oh it felt so good.
He could feel the fibers of his being feeling energized and euphoric, much stronger than he could remember. He felt like he could run for miles if he wished, and he relished in it with appreciation.
That was until he started a coughing fit.
It came out of nowhere, and it incapacitated him. He fell to the ground, coughing loudly and wheezing. Bringing a hoof up to his snout, he felt a thick greenish liquid seeping out of his mouth.
Blood.
His insides felt like they were burning, and it never went away. Clutching his abdomen in agony, Brass silently writhed on the ground.
It took a few minutes, but the sensation finally passed. All that was left was nothingness in his being. He still felt energized, but not quite as he did before the coughing fit.
There, Brass Screws recuperated. He shakily got to his hooves and stood on all fours. Taking an idle glance at the body, he saw what he had become.
He looked unrecognizable. His coat no longer had color, and instead was a washed-out grey. Its hairs were sickly and matted. The skin was thin and cold. Bones were protruding through his skin as if he was deeply malnourished before he died.
He didn’t even look like a pony anymore. Just a husk of one.
The Changeling felt his energy leave him, as his eyes were locked onto the dead worker. The Changeling never had to leech off of anypony before. This was the first time he had conducted leeching. And on a dead body, no less.
Both parties of this one-sided exchange were left violated.
Brass Screws momentarily sat down, looking around to ensure nopony was watching. Miraculously, the lot was empty.
There, he cried.
It wasn’t Sea Breeze, or Brass Screws crying, but rather the parasitic imposter on the inside. In his mind, he was now no better than the Changelings invading Equestria. He had committed leeching on a dead pony.
Although necessary for his well-being and survival, the fact he did not hesitate when the moment arrived spoke volumes to him. He knows this energy is only finite; ephemeral but potent.
How long would it be before he would find himself desperate for more again? What lengths would he go through to secure it next time? Would there even be a next time for him?
Would he have to leech from now on to survive, living or dead?
In between shuddering breaths and choking sobs, he mumbled to himself.
“What am I doing… What am I doing… What am I doing here...”
“Dig! Dig! Dig! KEEP DIGGING!”
His arms were aching, he couldn’t do it for much longer. The repetitive, grueling motion of dig and sweep in a vertical motion was torturing every ligament in his arms.
Digging this same section of the trench for the last half hour or so, the conditions were miserable. The soil was stiff and dry in the outskirts of Northern Bales. Beyond the western section that laid just behind him as he dug the eastern section, he could hear a roaring river streaming south.
Beyond that, Artillery. It thumped past the river in a steady, rhythmic pattern—never too far away.
“Anypony who lags behind risks everything on what we’ve strived to accomplish! Do not delay! Dig faster!”
The amplified voice of the Drill Sergeant behested with an animosity that could only be found through combat experience. The megaphone he carried ensures we all can hear his voice when necessary.
The Earth Pony form of the Changeling didn’t bother with interaction at all. To everypony else, he was just another efficient digger.
…
… It’s been about a year since it began. And everything’s gone to shit.
He was inadvertently fired from the job after showing up late for a straight week in a row after he posthumously leeched a pony. Waking up every morning since it felt like it was mandatory for his stomach to project its contents outside.
Since then, he’s felt sickly, he’s unemployed, and he only survived due to that love he sustained. Everything else though… was horrid.
His apartment had been emptied steadily since the war began as he continued to sell his amenities. He assumed that by selling his belongings to War Bonds, he could passively fill his Love pool from the appreciation of others.
It didn’t really work out as intended, but it gave him good bits to make whatever he had left to last.
But things still didn’t improve from there.
The Changeling army seems hellbent on tearing through all of Northern Central Equestria, storming past Marechester and Whinnyapolis. Now the strategic defensive line of Bales (or what is planned to be) stands to be the only line of defense before they try their luck on Canterlot and the Southwest Territories.
Everypony is scared. Nopony knows what’s about to happen, but they hope it works out in the end. Yet the Changeling knew deep down, and he could feel it within everyone else—even if they don’t admit it.
The Changelings might overwhelm Bales. And then what?
The terrifying aspect of this nightmare was the uncertainty of the outcome and the aftermath. There was no try and true prediction. Only educated guesses.
And every educated guess that had been on an Equestrian Victory thus far was wrong.
And now with the army getting closer and closer to Bales, and with virtually no military presence in the city, the city was getting desperate—Equestria as a whole was getting desperate. They opted to use civilian workforces to construct military fortifications around the city, while the military worked on delaying them for as long as they could.
What resulted was yet another impromptu conscription period, where the ponies are drafted as citizen engineers against their will. In an effort to save their lives, their loved ones, the city, and possibly Equestria itself.
The Changeling had opted to change into a Unicorn form so he could effectively work without physical exertion. But the equestrians are relentlessly stepping up their anti changeling hardware and tactics. Accompanying the Drill Sergeant were two Pegasi that carried staffs of detection. If a single ounce of Changeling Magic was spotted close by, it would seek the perpetrator out seamlessly.
So magical use was out of the question. He opted for the Earth Pony form instead.
But to maintain such a form all day while he dug for his life, with a facade form of immeasurable stamina when, in actuality, he could feel his lungs starting to collapse from the hot coals forming within.
It was killing him on the inside in more ways than one that he didn’t think this part through.
The artillery was thumping closer. The changeling glanced over behind him and could see charred smoke billowing from the horizon.
“You, Why’d you stop!?” the Sergeant (thankfully unamplified) bellowed toward the changeling. “You’ve been slowing down when you’re an earth pony, why’d you stop?” he asked with a gravelly tone.
The Changeling and his mind froze. They could physically see the gears in the Earth Pony’s face turn from the Sergeants' perspective.
“Well? What do you have to say for yourself!?”
The Changeling had to think of something convincing, something to properly excuse his abhorrent performance in a way that is succinct and closer to the truth. Something that will not invoke suspicion, but rather an acceptance.
And so he possibly picked the greatest backstory that any changeling Earth Pony could create, in the span of 8 seconds.
“Tuberculosis.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“... Goddammit.” The sergeant finally mutters, as he declares defeat. He brings a hoof to his face. “What the fuck—ok, fine. Corporal, find a replacement for this sorry sod. I want a real Earth Pony to do this job for me, not a sickly one.”
“Yes Sir!”
The Earth Pony was opted out of the Trench, who was quickly replaced by another of his kind who was more able-bodied and quickly got to work. The former of which that walked away glanced back tentatively, taking in what he saw.
The trench had to be miles long. Thousands of Ponies here are digging, seemingly in Harmony… or what’s left of it. He could hear more orders being barked from distant megaphones, engines rumbling within the cities as transport trucks carried more ponies to the trench line for engineer duty. A windchill with a full overcast sky was still in the making right in front of his eyes, as he could see the weather Pegasi working around the clock to form clouds.
He couldn’t look anymore. He turned back to himself as the corporal left his side without saying a word. There, he was left alone in a street surrounded by ponies milling about who didn’t give him an acknowledging glance.
His mind wandered back to an age of the past. When he first moved to Equestria, and everypony seemed to have possessed that form of naivete that suggested ‘everything’s going to be just fine.’
How everyone used to smile back then. It seemed so innocent.
And looking back at the trench line now, he couldn’t imagine smiles being shown here.
At first to the Changeling, when this war began, it seemed so materialistic in nature. And at the time, he couldn’t see a complex metaphor to be made. Nor could he see the individual suffering that was occurring. The level of destruction and death it could bring based on the industrial quantities of the nations.
It was unnatural. Otherworldly, even. Like such a concept shouldn’t even belong on this planet. At all. What kind of cruel being would allow such a fabrication of such a horror to exist in a world that was seemingly perfect beforehoof?
Why? Why was Equestria at War?
Why was there Tartarus let loose on Earth?
In that moment of stillness, where everypony who would’ve previously run away from that impenetrable darkness, opted to walk toward it. To welcome it with open hooves. Against the very being that he—the Changeling himself—hated.
And at that same time, he could see through that ever-climbing billow of smoke that extended its reach into the heavens. The sins of his kind. And he could see himself in it.
He was no better than they were.
...
It was that moment.
That moment in particular, where the ponies he grew to love shunned his kind, and where his kind embraced the darkness willingly.
He knew in that particular moment that he was possibly the last sane individual on this planet.
And so he does what any sane individual does.
He runs.
A changeling clad in a gas mask and military attire rushes forward near a pile of rubble, beneath the corner of a tenement. After diving for cover, he takes a moment to catch his breath and tune in for derelict sounds. Distant gunfire across the city made that difficult, And so did the occasional explosion in the distance, but he persisted.
After a solid minute of relative silence, he finally willed the courage to peek over the rubble ever so slowly. The evening sun glinted him in his mask’s eye socket, causing him to pause moving.
PLANG!
A bullet narrowly missed his skull as it grazed the crown of his helmet, causing him to fall backward on the ground. With a groan, he patted his head and face for any injuries. There, he could feel a small crevice on the top of his helmet, where the bullet had struck.
Stupid, Green Sniper. Gave away his position too early and didn’t even kill him.
The Changeling stays low and crawls closer towards the tenement where an open window that was shattered granted him easy access. The walls were thankfully just tall enough to hide his prone body as he made his way towards the reception counter.
But to his dismay, there was no staircase. Only an elevator.
He was trapped.
Cursing to himself, he opted instead to get behind the counter while sticking to the darkness. After making it behind, he ripped the mask off his face and gasped for fresh air.
No gas. This must be the one and only part of the city where there wasn’t any.
Weighing his options, the Changeling concluded that it wasn’t safe to exit the building from where he came. As inexperienced as the sniper was with his tactics, he had a good aim. He didn’t want to risk playing chicken with a bullet that could move faster than him.
Looking back to the express elevator that dimly glowed on its button panels, he could see that it was still powered somehow. He thought the city’s electric grid was all shut down. Unless this elevator carried a spare battery of some kind.
It didn’t matter to him. Better avenue of exit than the door at least. He made a short dash for the door, of which no shot came his way. Pressing the one and only button on the panel, he waited anxiously until they finally opened. There, he opted for the highest available floor.
As the doors shut and he was isolated, the Changeling took a moment to sag against the railings of the small room and take a deep breath of fresh air. Checking his weapon shortly afterward, it was still loaded and ready to fire. He took aim at the door as he neared his floor.
The doors ‘dinged’ open, and nopony shot at him immediately. Nopony was here in the hall at least.
He immediately noticed the one and only open door off to the right of the hall.
Trotting as slow as molasses and hugging the wall of the open door, he mentally steeled himself for whatever might be inside. It could jump out at him, it could be waiting for him inside, or it could be nothing.
As he trotted, he tuned his ears for derelict sounds once more. He only heard his abhorrent creaking hoofsteps as dried rubber stepped on loose floorboards.
Stopping short of the open door, he listened again. The distant gunfire was thankfully much quieter this time around, but even so, he could hear nothing.
He waited. One minute. Two minutes.
Still nothing.
He finally willed himself to peek around the door, green irises piercing from the doorway.
And found an empty, furnished apartment.
Swinging his weapon around while levitating a pistol, he breached the room. Peeking corners and clearing doorways, there was no pony in here but him. The windows were thankfully blinded, allowing only the light of the sun to see through.
Allowing himself to sigh in relief, the Changeling took a moment to recuperate himself. Drinking from his reservoir of liquid love in his canteen, he felt replenished almost immediately afterward. Taking a moment to take in his surroundings, the apartment was trashed. But not looted.
He opened the pantry of the kitchen and found… something he hadn’t seen in a long time.
Chocolate.
He greedily grabbed it for himself, opting to save it for a special occasion—
… a pause.
… ‘What special occasion,’ he thought to himself. ‘This is as good as it gets.’
He tore open the wrapping slowly and took a nibble. It hurt his teeth to chew on it too much and his tongue was as crackly as it was dry. But he suckled every nibble of it, relishing in its flavor. He felt a euphoric sensation of satisfaction overtake him.
Closing the Apartment door, he opted to stay here for a while and to have some respite. That Sniper could be dealt with later.
As he thought to himself, something caught his eyes beneath the blinded windows. It sat delicately atop a stained Coffee Table, a pristine and untouched-looking book of some kind. But not any book he’s seen.
Didn’t even look like a book, more like a journal of some kind.
The Changeling trotted up to it. And it bore no title. No wording on the exterior at all. Only a leather-skinned cover.
Opening it up, the first page was blank. Turning to the second one, it bore only one word.
"Tenant."
He turned the page again.
"What I am about to tell you is not supposed to be a story of tribulation or of a special journey where one finds a deeper meaning within oneself. I simply wish to convey my thoughts and bottled emotions on something I can vent to before I leave forever.
"This is not a story for you to interpret, but rather to realize something that would be rather obvious to everyone.
"What is Darkness?
"The absence of light; That impenetrable curtain that hangs outside a cave. Symbolic transmutation that came to represent a wide range of hideousness.
"Both Metaphysical and Natural, the word darkness is a metaphorical vessel used to describe and capture phenomenon often too vague, too complex, or too ugly for a single mind or culture to properly comprehend in its raw form.
"The word is a patchy net that we cast onto our deep existential fears onto the indifferent and to the invisible wheel of fate and history that had crushed so many. Trying to hold at least some definition and the illusion of control through its familiarity.
"Even the vaguest name gives the horror at least some shape.
"Darkness is truly the most concrete and vaguest term at the same time to describe this horror; the extent of its savagery; the scale of its madness;
"The very light of Tartarus."