“ALL ABOARD!” the train conductor calls out to everypony on the platform of this train station.

Fortunately for me, I don't have any bags to carry, so I just trot on board the train. During that time, I am both amused and disgusted that no pony checks my forged train ticket before I board the train. Instead, they are content to check it during the trip.

Huh. These ponies are so pathetically naive.

Without a word to anypony else, I sit down at my assigned seat and wait for the train to take off. When it does, I look over to my left at the window next to my seat. In it, I can see the reflection of the new face I am wearing at the moment. In this case, it's a brown coat gentlepony with a darker brown mustache and a long goatee. He is also wearing a monocle on the right eye and has a gray Bullard hat with a black stripe in the middle.

Not that it really matters. This face is just as false as any other I may choose to wear.

I am so glad to be out of this area. Thorax's new changeling hive isn't even close to the home I used to know. In fact, it seems deliberately reversed. They mostly live out in the open now instead of an ever-morphing, hole-filled hive. They dance, sing and prance in the daylight.

I can tell I was not the only one of my fellow clones to feel revulsion at the way the hive turned out. Many of them gave me a disgusted glance as they seemed to ask me, “Can you believe these new changelings?”

Worst of all was the “feelings circle” that they kept recruiting us clones too. There, the other reformed changelings kept encouraging us to share our feelings with the rest of those present within the circle. Fortunately they didn't insist, but it's also why most of my fellow clones just sat there and silently glared at everyone around them.

I knew what my fellow clones were thinking because I felt the same way. Each of us must have been thinking some variation of, “Why should we trust any of you with our secrets? We don't know what you'll do with them. Even if we can be convinced that you have benign intentions right now, how long will that remain true? And even if you stay loyal to us later, how do we know that you won't slip our secret to some other potential enemy later?”

That's the way we always think and are raised to think. Everyone is either an enemy or a potential enemy. No exceptions. Not even the other members of the Ghosts. Perhaps I should say especially the other Ghosts because they were our greatest competition.

I know, just as my fellow clones do, that none of that really happened to us, but I still remember all the scheming, backstabbing, sleuthing, cunning investigations, and interrogations we had to do against our fellow Ghosts. I remember that the only way to become the leader of the Ghosts was to decipher a code that each of us had one/tenths of. By whatever means necessary, we had to get the other pieces of the code and put it all together in the correct order. Only the leader knew the full code because he or she made it up. This includes the last piece of the code. If we could decipher it, then that changeling becomes the new leader. That position is official when we offer the rest of the Ghosts a new piece of the new code which starts the cycle all over again.

What I, and I suspect most of my fellow clones knew, was that our original self was the last and final leader of the Ghosts before we got disbanded due to a major compromise in the Hive.

It took so much to finally attain and secure that position. That is why it is humiliating in the extreme to finally be caught and revealed to the open public with our true face. A breach in security that severe would normally require us to kill ourselves and, even if we don't, the other Ghosts would.

Despite my humiliation and discomfort, I did help Starlight track down some of our remaining clones who virtually scatted on the winds. Individuals of whom, I knew, would really want to protect their privacy and secrets, as any true professional spy would. Knowing how they feel and why they feel that way, it was painful for me to aide her in finding them. It felt like treachery, but in the long run, it might present some valuable opportunities.

Starlight had it easy at first. She managed to pull the ones who were immediately in the cave to a secure location in Ponyville then eventually the Hive, but not all of the clones were in the cave. In fact, most of them were on the field. Since we were able to secure and rescue the original bodies of those they switched with, because they were right there in the cave when they switched back, we had a good idea whom those clones switched with and how many there were.

But I knew, before we even started hunting for them, that we were up against a major challenge. I knew the very first thing the members of the Ghosts would do as soon as they realize their position has been compromised is to basically and immediately go underground and even clean up any evidence that would help their pursuers track of us down. Ultimately this means we needed to track down some of the most elusive individuals our race has to offer. It honestly surprises me we managed to track down even one of our members, let alone six of us.

But, after that, the trail got too cold and I strongly suspect those clones started to realize one of our own was trying to track them down so they grew even more careful to hide the evidence. When I started to see that pattern, I knew resuming our quest would be a fools errand.

This, of course, means the majority of the clones are still at large somewhere in the world. I wonder how prepared the world will be to hoofle that fact.

I really got to hoof it to Starlight, though. For a pony, she really is impressive. And, despite my personal discomfort, it felt gratifying to work with such a competent individual. I really can't help but wonder how far she would have gone among the Ghosts if she were born a changeling from the start.

But the Ghosts, as an organization, is gone now and, quite frankly, we clones were born into slavery. We never had a chance to fully conceal our true selves. Everything just “happened” to us. There was no control over our fate until now.

Still, old habits die hard. One of us clones even remained so quiet that some of the other reformed changelings back at the Hive affectionately started to nickname that one, “Silent”.

These pathetic changelings have no idea what we had to go through. How humiliating and traumatizing it was to be forced into the backseat of our very own bodies and forced to witness every word, action, and even feelings of our invaders. We were secretly floating in the slime cocoons but we remained connected to our true bodies somehow.

Only I got fully dislodged from Sweetie's body in the cocoon when Button came and took my place. From that day, until I got this new clone body, I was still just a passenger in my own body except for one brief moment when a hypnotic trance brought me to the surface of consciousness.

My fellow clones must have gone through similar experiences. Tucking their foals in at night, going to work, paying their taxes, and singing along with the rest of the town for the stupidest of reasons. It's baffling how such deeply individualistic ponies also have such a strong “follow the herd” mentality sometimes. When any group activity starts to pick up, these ponies’ sense of personal self gets washed away and replaced with group madness.

My fate was not much better off compared to the rest of the clones. The only difference is Sweetie became aware that she was a guest and I was the host. To her credit, at least she tried to be courteous about that once she reached that conclusion.

That doesn't follow through with my natural instincts. I wouldn't have given up the advantage once it's secure, but hey! If she wants to be polite, who am I to complain?

I gaze through the window to my left at the passing terrain while my “train” of thoughts shift to a new track. During that time, I remain subconsciously aware of some extraneous details of my surroundings, as I am trained to always do. Things like how many others are sitting in my train car, what color they are, what breed, species, and gender they are, their position to me and each other, the temperature in the room, the number of potential escape routes, the rocking of the train car, the sound of the train tracks, and much more.

Innocence.

I don't think I truly knew what that word meant until I shared part of my life with Sweetie Belle.

Although, technically speaking, I shared the majority of my life with Sweetie Belle since I was so recently created.

Originally I probably would have grouped the word “innocence” as a synonym to other words like, “fool”, “gullible”, “stupid”, “naive,” “easy mark”, “weak” and other such things.

But now I have to ask myself does innocence still equal weak? If so, how was she able to trounce an army of highly trained changeling clones plus my original self? No changeling has ever done what she did before. Becoming pure energy, even if it was only for a moment. I can't even come close to fathoming how she was able to pull that off.

The best I can figure is that it has to do with innate pony magic combined with changeling magic. Somehow the two mixed and produced very unexpected results. It might also be that the results of the accident of their magic table which caused an unusual mutation in our case.

By the same method, she changed my original base form too. In the process, she accidentally discovered a possible cure for our race’s breeding problem by becoming the first true female of our race we've ever known since Queen Chrysalis.

However, despite that discovery, King Thorax and his reformed changelings agreed to back off from Sweetie Belle for now and give her a fair chance to grow up as a natural pony. It will only be when she fully feels ready and also starts ovulating will the other changelings carefully approach her again and politely ask her if she's ready to be subjected to some testing. After all, she still might be holding on to a possible cure for our race, and Sweetie is willing to help too because of course she is. That's pretty much all she ever does.

I never told her this, but in the process of sharing her life with me, I had full access to her memories as well. I dipped into it sometimes because I wanted to understand her better. It's perplexing to me that the more I researched her, the less I understood her. All I could understand is the fact she lived a very different life than I did. It is a life of trust, security, love, and friendship. There is a camaraderie she shared with others that I can barely understand. This is particularly true with her closest fellow friends, the Crusaders. I really can't identify with the lack of thinking and just going with one's gut kind of lifestyle. In my eyes, that opens up too many chances for error and that lack of logical precision is just too unsettling.

Yet Sweetie is happy. Truly and wholeheartedly happy. I used to be tempted to call that a weakness of hers, yet she pulled off something I still can't understand.

I think back to the number of innocent adventures she had with her friends. The number of times she high-hoofed with her friends. The explosive inner glow of love whenever her parents hugged her. The times she happily pranced after her sister in the hopes to get noticed and maybe, just maybe, make her older sister as proud of her as Sweetie is of her older sister. It actually felt like a pipe dream to Sweetie for the longest time but she never gave up that hope anyway.

The irony is Sweetie probably started to succeed in that goal over and over again around the time she finally stopped trying to suck up to her older sister and forge her own destiny.

Playing in the sandbox, coloring in a little coloring book, writing new music, getting her muzzle messy as she playfully licks up ice cream, giggling with her friends . . . all of this I used to wince at and pity how weak she was, but now I can't help but wonder if I'm now looking upon those memories with a sense of jealousy. Happiness didn't seem worth it if it came at the cost of worthwhile power, but how exactly did she achieve both? At the end of the day, she won, and I'm forced to reconcile with that fact even as I struggle to understand it.

Is it really possible to have a piece of cake and eat it too?

Still, I am actually glad that the other changelings are backing off and allowing Sweetie a fair chance to grow up first before being bothered by all of these other extra things. The poor girl has been through enough lately.

In fact, I'm sure her challenges aren't over yet. The camaraderie she had with her sibling-like friends required her to be equal to them, and now she's not. For better and for worse, she is older on the inside. As a result, she's not in as much sync with her other friends.

Who is to say how that new challenge will develop their relationship? All that I do know is all three of them are unlikely to give up.

Also, even if Sweetie is ahead in the curve for now, her friends will catch up eventually. Every foal has to grow up someday. That's just how this world works unless they are killed first. I'll never dismiss that possibility, either, because I am a grim realist. I know how the world really works. I know because I caused death to happen more than once.

Or, at least, my original self did. I guess if I really think about it, my hooves are technically clean of blood. Sure, I may have stabbed Princess Twilight at one time, but I have yet to actually kill anypony despite my overwhelming potential to do so.

Once again . . . innocence. Pure, uninvited, and unavoidable innocence . . . so far.

I feel like hissing in disgust!

Though I suppose this is a chance for a fresh new start. That presents new options that I may seriously have to consider. After all, there is no need to attach myself to a past that hadn’t really happened to me.

In a way, it’s all just a dream.

I look at my reflection again and the false face I wear.

Every moment of every day, I could change this face. The only one I am tempted to avoid is my true form for I cringe at the exposure.

Yet, as a realist, I have to acknowledge that the world truly is becoming a more and more friendly place, primarily thanks to these ponies. Old spies and soldiers like me are slowly losing our place in the world. We just don't know what to do with ourselves in a world full of genuine peace. With a whole lifetime of preparing for the worst, what can we do when the worst never comes?

I used to think that Sweetie's life is a life full of flaws and vulnerability to danger, yet a life like hers is quickly becoming the norm. Maybe she will continue to be okay or better. Maybe she doesn't need old demons like me to protect her anymore.

And Sweetie . . . what a life she has. What a light she is. While my hooves are trained to bring nothing but destruction and death, hers restores life. She can even create life. That’s a very rare gift for any changeling.

Maybe I really don't have a place in this world anymore.

I don't really know what I've become, but I am clearly not the same as I used to be. I used to be someone who can do whatever is required of me in my mission without hesitation or mercy.

I'm not cruel. I don't enjoy torturing others. Rather than that, I just don't care. No matter how much praise or insults are thrown my way, I don't allow anything to distract me from my mission.

Or at least that's what I would have said before I shared my life with Sweetie Belle.

When I keep thinking back to the moment I stabbed her in her virtual shoulder within The Room, I still cringe in pain. The greater irony is Sweetie Belle herself is probably fine now. She's laughing and playing with her friends and family as if no tragedy has ever happened to her, and yet I'm the one who is still haunted by that memory.

When I attacked her and made her cry, I hurt her for only that moment. On the other hoof, when I attacked her and made her cry, I hurt myself for possibly a lifetime. That shocked me at the time and I still have trouble accepting it. Why has this pathetic little filly gotten to me more than any other I have ever tortured?

Even with all of my training in psychology, the only conclusion I can reach is that I'm too emotionally invested to see the truth clearly. It's hard to see a whole dresser drawer, for example, when one's muzzle is shoved right up to and stuck against a specific spot of it.

I never had a specific draw to do “evil” things but it used to be that I didn't have an aversion to it either. I did whatever I had to do to complete my mission. Whether that requires me to drop some bodies or buy them ice cream, it didn't matter to me so long as it served my mission in the end.

But now, whenever I even think of hurting others, I can't help but imagine Sweetie Belle crying again. Those tears still haunt my mind in a way I never thought possible. Now I can't help but hesitate before striking because I imagine that my action would cause Sweetie to cry if she witnessed it. This limitation angers me! I would like to yell at the little white filly “SHUT UP ALREADY”.

But, of course, I'm only arguing with my own hypothetical mind which reveals a very real emotional scar. I've done self analysis plenty of times to check for weaknesses. Now I'm finding too many all the time. I feel like a compromised secret agent who probably should fully retire, but I really don't know what else to do with my life. I've only trained to be one thing and, despite all of my new flaws, I am still really, really good at it. Better than most would be. The main reason I criticize myself so much is because I keep comparing myself to true perfection. I've never achieved that standard before but I used to be closer. So close that the chances of me failing a mission was almost zero percent sometimes.

I usually aim for overkill because there's always a chance for something unexpected to happen, but that didn't protect my original self in the end. He literally starved himself out with the belief that he truly had to try that hard to eliminate any chance of error with his especially important mission, but if just one innocent and seemingly weak little filly can undo all of his carefully laid work, do I ever stand a guaranteed chance of succeeding in something? Or, indeed, anything? If not, if it's truly impossible to secure a one-hundred percent chance of success at something, is it really worth trying so hard? Over-exertion may burn me out and weaken my odds of success with the next mission. I have to be willing to look at the big picture too.

With all of these memories I have of my original life, it boggles my mind to realize that he's now dead. All that is left of him are hundreds of clones to carry on his legacy. Each one has just bits and pieces of him, much like children of a mutual father.

Maybe some of us, or even most of us, have the majority of his memories, but we'll never truly know, will we? We'd need the mind of our original self and carefully compare the details, and we have forever lost our chance for that.

But if he was sitting in my place and went through what I've gone through, I bet he'd suffer an existential crisis too.

Who am I really? That's a very good question. I'm very familiar with wearing a false mask to hide my true self from even myself, but I'm not nearly as adept at exploring the changeling beneath the mask. We are all locked down and limited by the constraints of our own self-perceived standards of perfection. Very often, our standards of training made us so superior that we are indeed the last ones standing time and time again when the dust settles.

Oh, how lonely it is at the top. I tried to make myself comfortable, or at least emotionally detached, from that fact, but I don't think I can do that anymore. With all of the emotional fulfillment I sampled through Sweetie Belle, I don't think I can ever really and truly go back to the way I was. Not unless I could somehow force myself to forget all that I have ever learned.

But even if I could, would I? Once I've become aware of other possible options in life, it's very hard to ignore them.

Maybe I should accept the fact that there shall always be a little Sweetie Belle in me from now on. The voice of conscience that I never really asked for, yet can't deny once I received it.

Sweetie Belle.

In an odd way . . . I suppose it's not really so bad being your brother after all. Your innocent yet oddly powerful charm is really quite infectious. By tainting me with imperfection, you may have also inadvertently set me free.

When I step off the train, I look about to see if I spot her, and, indeed, I do. I see Sweetie Belle, along with her friends and family, carefully scanning each pony that exits the train. They are probably expecting me not to be in my true form. Sweetie Belle knows me well enough to predict that at the very least.

To be fair, though, I think she's the only one putting any actual effort in locating me.

I did not fully realize, until our eyes met, that I had a secret plan to ditch her if she failed to locate me. I don't like to get close to others and have them know the “real” me. I'm too private and suspicious for that.

But the moment our eyes locked onto each other, she smiles at me in recognition. I do not realize, until a moment later, that I sheepishly smiled back at her. It's quite embarrassing to be caught, especially by a seemingly weak little filly. I used to successfully guard myself against the other members of the Ghosts, damn it! How can this little filly see right through me so easily now?

But, of course, some of the answers is pretty obvious.

“There you are!” Sweetie Belle cries out excitedly as she rushes over to me then leaps onto my back to give me a big hug from behind.

“Ah . . . Sweetie, are you sure this is him?” Sweetie's father, Hondo Flakes, asks in discomfort as he approaches the two of us. It's obvious to me why he's uncomfortable. After all, if Sweetie is wrong, she just glomped a total stranger. As her father, he's going to have to take responsibility for that if she happens to be wrong.

“Yep!” Sweetie cries out excitedly. “I'm sure.”

Both of Sweetie's parents look at me sheepishly while each of them hopes that I'd let them off the hook by admitting who I am.

I must admit, what's left of my sadistic and also private side does kind of enjoy watching them squirm.

But I owe Sweetie a lot, so I decide to grant them this boon at least one more time.

“It is kind of embarrassing for me to admit that she's caught me,” I admit out loud. “As you may be able to understand, I used to be quite good at acting.”

“You still are!” Sweetie squeaks happily. “But it's not your fault. After the two of us have grown as close as we have, I probably could spot and smell you out a mile away.”

“Ah . . . pleasure to finally meet you, Sir,” Scootaloo says very nervously to me. “Sweetie has been telling us a lot about you lately.”

“Really?” I ask as I pass a slightly playful glare at Sweetie on my back. “And just what does she say about me?”

“Ah . . . nothing compromising. Honest!” Scootaloo promises in a slight panic.

When I look back at Scootaloo, I realize that she fears me far more than she's pleased to see me. Because of that, I decide to tease her a little by widening my eyes and opening my mouth to salivate a bit, for I can smell her fear, and it is delicious!

Because I do that, Scootaloo fearfully cringes behind Sweetie's parents.

Oddly enough, Apple Bloom fearlessly holds her ground. I wonder why she is the braver of the two.

“Howdy,” Apple Bloom greets me as she approaches me and offers a hoof. “Mah name is Apple Bloom. Pleased to meet'cha, partner.”

“Be nice,” Sweetie Belle lightly scolds me on my back. “I'm sure I don't have to remind you that these two are my dearest friends.”

I sigh irritably. Sweetie Belle's request puts some unwelcome constraints on me, but I know how to playact if I have to.

“Charmed, I'm sure, little lady,” I tell Apple Bloom gracefully as I pull off a move that probably surprises her. Instead of shaking her hoof in a friendly manner as she wanted and expected, I instead scoop it up and kiss the tip of it. When that evokes a very surprised blush from little Miss Bloom, I grin faintly and cunningly at her as an evil spark twinkles deep in my eyes.

Behind me, Sweetie Belle scolds me by pounding on my neck with a light tap and requests, “Stop teasing my friends, you sicko,” she says with a bit of a playful giggle.

“Hey ya, Sir,” Hondo somewhat nervously greets. “Listen. I'm sure you were eavesdropping when I had my conversation with my daughter, and, well . . . I just want to say that I apologize for my earlier remark about not trusting changelings. It was unfair of me to label you all the same way and, for that, I apologize.”

“Apology rejected,” I tell Hondo bluntly and immediately which greatly startles and takes him aback. “I won't accept any apology for one of the few acts you did wisely.”

“Huh?” Hondo asks me with a confused tilt of his head.

“You were right to label us, Sir,” I explain. “You may have been at fault for judging all of us that way and that really was an oversight on your part. For that, I forgive you, but as for the rest,” I flash him an evil smile as I briefly morph on rows of jagged teeth, “watch your back, Sir. We changelings are capable of much worse than you can imagine. Certainly far worse than we have chosen to reveal so far.”

“Ah,” Hondo looks very uncomfortable now. “Thanks for the warning. I'll be sure to keep that in mind.”

“Yes. You do that,” I agree stiffly.

These ponies might feel like I'm assaulting them but I'm actually doing them a kindness. If they remain ignorant to how much we can be a true threat to them then next time they might suffer something far worse.

Aside from that, some of my fellow clones remain at large and their behavior is potentially quite erratic. Prudence is always wise in any case.

“I hope you don't mind, Sir, but a bunch of us here in Ponyville have decided to throw you a party,” Apple Bloom informs me.

I assume a droll look as I say, “Of course you did because ponies. I'm surprised that you didn't try to make it a surprise party.”

Apple Bloom grins in amusement as she says, “Actually, Pinkie Pie was trying to talk us into it but,” she shifts her look to Sweetie Belle who is still hugging me on my back, “Sweetie Belle said ya're too much of a detective.” She looks back at me. “So ya probably would'a seen through the surprise anyhow, so we might as well be upfront about it.”

Then, for some strange reason, Apple Bloom lifts up a cowbell and looks at it as she says, “Pinkie also wanted me to put this on you so we could keep track of you and make sure you don't try to gallop away from the party.”

I grin at her viciously and flare my eyes with a sinful glow as I dare her, “Oh, by all means, please try and find out what happens!”

Now she's finally intimidated. Apple Bloom backs off a few steps and hides the cowbell behind her as she smiles at me timidly and says, “Ah . . . thanks, but no thanks. Ah think Ah'll spare ya this one fer now.”

“Oh, are you sure?” I ask as I twist my head sideways in a deliberately unnerving way. “It could ever be so much fun!”

Behind me, Sweetie Belle giggles then says, “Maybe I can talk you into wearing that cowbell.”

“You first,” I tell her dryly with a sudden deadpan expression. “You're a changeling now. You morph it on.”

Delight sparks in her eyes as she asks me, “If I do, will you do it next?”

“No,” I tell her bluntly. I don't even bother following that up with an explanation. This little filly should know me better than that.

“Oh,” Sweetie says with disappointment as her ears droop.

I look away from her at that moment because I don't want to reveal that her disappointment secretly hurts me inside now.

“But you're still coming to the party tonight, right?” Scootaloo asks me nervously. “After all, it isn't just to celebrate your return to Ponyville. The party is actually about the success of helping to reform the other clones of you. I heard they were making progress back at the Hive.”

More progress than I ever thought would happen, in fact. There have only been four suicides over these last three moons, one of which was one Starlight and I happened to track down which was exactly why that one killed himself. That was another reason that convinced her to finally back off from trying to track down the others.

One of the clones has even been driven to tears at the Feelings Circle, of all places. Both I and the other clones present were downright shocked to witness that!

After that, I quickly realized that we all had post-traumatic stress disorder to some degree, and the one who broke down must have had it especially tough. We all have very strong and disciplined minds that are trained to remain calm under pressure and even while under torture. I probably don't want to know what caused that particular clone to cry in public like that even with all that extra pressure to do so.

I don't think it is my imagination that the one who broke down sounded female when he did so. Maybe the pony he replaced was a mother who lost her foal or something during the switch. I can only guess, but it must be something really bad to crack one of us this soon.

“Yeah. That figures,” I accept a little numbly while I reminisce on what happened across these last three moons.

“So you are going to come?!” Sweetie Belle asks me with rising excitement.

“Yeah,” I say with a lamenting sigh. “Let's get this over with.”

What can I say about pony parties? It seems quite festive and annoyingly typical for the race.

I can't accuse them of being lazy about it either. The bouncing pink one, in particular, seemed to spare no effort or expense with this. Since she has three balloons for a cutie mark, I might have to call this typical for her despite the degree of effort applied here.

It takes longer than I thought it would for every pony in this purple crystal room, which used to be the throne room of this castle, to finally get the hint that I don't like to be social. Not unless I am impersonating a pony like Miss Pie. And even if I do, I wouldn't be doing these things from the heart.

I especially feel this way because I've been encouraged to reveal my true form at this party. It took a while to finally convince me to do that, but it is another reason I'm keeping others at a distance. I hate, hate, HATE to reveal my true form because it makes me vulnerable. I'm perceptive enough to know that these ponies aren't really planning anything against me but that's beside the point. Sweetie was actually right about one thing regarding me. I am not a social bug and they need to accept that.

There are some other changelings in the room, too. Most of them are reformed changelings but a few of them are fellow clones. Notably, they are the ones who opened up the most and they still look reserved in this setting.

I sweep my eyes across the room as I take in the various details. Party streamers are hung above. A white unicorn Dj is at a Dj booth and playing some kiddie-sounding party songs while bobbing her head to it. With some insistence, I've practically been force-fed some of the punch in this room. It tastes really fruity, much like the festive mood of these gay pastel ponies in this room.

But, for a moment, I actually try to look at all of this through the eyes of Sweetie Belle. I know she'd look beyond the surface of all of these things and instead put a special emphasis on the emotion of this moment. Even now, I am seeing her dance with her friends and having a blast.

An inner glow ignites within me as I behold her far more fondly than I expected to feel. I do my best not to show it outwardly, and I probably succeed, but those feelings are there nonetheless.

This lifestyle . . . it's not for me. I know that now, but I still can't help smile a bit as I see Sweetie throwing herself into this. When I see it, I know it makes her happy and those feelings are absolutely genuine.

I grin a little further when I notice Button Mash, in his own body again, shyly approach Sweetie Belle and ask her for a dance. In response, Scootaloo and Apple Bloom giggle a bit but they also back off. As for Sweetie Belle, it is likely she eagerly says sure because they enthusiastically do exactly that moments later.

With a small touch of horror, it dawns on me that there are too many within this room that want to extend their hoof to me in friendship, but I am not like these ponies. I don't feel comfortable with others knowing my real identity. Even with a cover identity, there are limits to how far I'd be willing to go. I'd never do something to actively betray the Hive, for example, though I might pretend to up to a point.

Rapid calculations spin in my mind as my future unfolds in front of me. I quickly realize how much I could get trapped in this situation. This might happen exactly that way to the other two clones of mine in this room, and that's fine. I don't really care about that. They can do whatever they want. We might share some similar history, sort of like identical twins, but we each have our own individual destiny from now on.

However, for me, I don't want others to get close to me. I prefer to keep my relationships professional and detached because I don't like to lose control of myself. I don't like to get all touchy-feely no matter how much hidden and surprisingly intense power there might be in it. I'm a changeling who leads with his mind. That's who I am and that's what I do.

Sweetie, of all ponies, would understand the importance of knowing one’s self and protecting free will.

In an attempt to look for a moment when I’m not being observed, I use a strenuous technique that causes a state of hyperfocus, thus making time seem to slow down according to my perception which allows me to process information at a super accelerated rate.

Unlike Sweetie Belle, I actually know how and why this technique works. Basically, it is accomplished by temporarily morphing considerably more neurons in my brain. With that many extra neural pathways, everything about the brain functions at a super-fast rate, including sensory input.

There are many drawbacks to this technique, though, that I think Sweetie wasn't aware of. With all of those extra neurons firing, it consumes my body’s nutrition at a faster rate too. Prolonged use also brings a slew of hostile side effects as well which increase in types and intensity as the process continues. Accordingly, this makes it an exceedingly dangerous technique, especially to maintain, but depending on what I am facing, it may be better to suffer physical, mental, and psychological side effects rather than be dead instead. The extra boost might save me, or my mission, at just the right moment and in just the right way.

During it, I look for a brief moment when no pony else is looking in my direction, not even through a reflection or off the corner of their eyes. In my mind, I can actually visualize the cone of perception of every single creature in the room. When I notice a brief window of opportunity when I’m being unobserved, I rapidly change my form to blend in then promptly leave the room. After that, I return my brain to the normal rate of thinking by necessity.

Be well, Sweetie Belle. You know who you are and even I know you well enough to know that you can not only thrive here, but you downright require this to be yourself.

This isn't me, however, so I need to be on my own again and find my own place.

I need a fresh start. I need to go where no one else knows me.

The thing is, I know the ponies moved a very special device here in this castle that affords me a unique opportunity. I know the downsides to it as well which is why I hesitated to exploit it earlier, but now I think it's come to this.

Due to my experience in being in other forms, I probably adjust to this faster than most would. Another thing that helps is that I had a thin idea of what to expect.

Still, as I emerge from the magic portal behind me, I need a moment to fight for my balance on what is now only two legs.

I hate the fact that this is broad daylight, too, and that there are other two-legged creatures about that could have noticed me.

But, as I carefully assess them, I notice that I am unusually lucky at this moment because none of them happen to glance in my direction and notice me struggling with my balance.

I wobbly make my way to the side of the portal behind me. On the side is a gray stone slab that comes upward at a bit of an angle. I place what is now my hands and arms on the side of the stone slab to help balance myself. While I stand there, I inwardly analyze my muscles and quickly calculate how my new body works. I move tiny individual muscles and I lean back and forth to test where my new center of gravity is. I also surreptitiously look at the others around me and examine the way they walk and their posture. I take that knowledge and I compile it in The Room. After that, I close my eyes and put myself in a brief trance for a few seconds in the real world while as I practice walking upright for about an hour within The Room until I am certain I've got it down right.

“Are you okay, little boy?” someone female asks nearby me. I pop my eyes open and look behind me. There I see an older woman who has a swirl of red and gold hair. She also wears a black jacket and wears a tea shirt with the image of a red and gold sun emblazoned on it.

I also take careful note how far up I have to look in order to gaze at her face from the perspective of my new diminished stature.

“Ah . . . yes. I will be fine,” I tell the woman as I stand up straight and proper. When I spoke, I noticed that my voice sounds pretty young. If I have to guess, I’d say it’s a close match to Sweetie Belle's age in the other world.

“I was just feeling a bit overwhelmed is all,” I explain to the woman to assuage her concerns and, more importantly, her suspicion. “I've never been to this place before, you see.” I glance to my side and rapidly take in the details. “This school,” I amend.

“Well, you're in luck, then. I know my way around Canterlot,” the woman tells me brightly.

“Canterlot?” I echo back at her.

“Yeah,” she says as she shrugs towards it. “Canterlot High.”

I look forward again at the stone wall to hide my face as I say, “I see.”

So this place is an institution dedicated to knowledge?

Excellent! This could serve to my advantage.

“Are you waiting for your parents here?” she asks me in concern.

“Yes,” I lie immediately. “They’ll probably be here shortly.”

I look down at myself and I notice that I am wearing clothes too. Specifically black slack pants, a black vest, and a white short sleeve shirt beneath that is well revealed in the chest because of the open vest.

I also notice there is a small bump in my black vest. I pat it for a second and notice there is an object concealed with it. I reach in the inside of the vest and notice there is a hidden pocket there. I fish out the object that is within the pocket and notice it is wrap-around reflective sunglasses.

Since they are reflective, I lift up the glasses for a moment in order to get a more careful assessment of my new form. Doing so confirms that I am a younger member of whatever this species is.

I smile at the glasses deviously.

“My name is Sunset Shimmer,” the kind woman greets. “What's your name?”

“Me?” I reflect then ponder this for a rapid moment before coming up with a clever answer. I put on the wrap-around shades before turning to face her as I announce, “Call me Ghost.”

Author's Note

It is interesting that this story started and ended on the very last day of their respective months.

I'm just going to come out and say it: This just might be my favorite chapter of this book. I just keep going back to it to re-edit it over and over again the day before post and I just can't tire of it. This chapter wraps up many, but not all, loose threads quite eloquently and I've always liked Raven as a character. It's challenging to write for a genius when I am not one, but it's still fun when it turns out well.

And, of course, at the tail end of this story, we finally get a peek inside his darkly fascinating head.

This story has very little connection to most of my other stories on this site which, at first, was deliberate, but there is one small exception, and this is it.

Ghost, the last former leader of the Ghosts.

He did make one brief appearance in The Shadow Queen, though he was mentioned in that book multiple times as the young teenager who was too good at sleuthing, for his age, to be believable. Back then, when I wrote that story and that character, I didn't think there would be a follow-up to that story, but I always sensed his potential even then and was curious about what more I could learn from him.

Well, now we all know, or at least know better to some degree.

One of my readers even started writing an epilogue of his (?) own to elaborate more on what happens to "Raven/Ghost" and his subsequent adventures with Sweetie Belle and her friends/family while he waited eagerly for this chapter. Not only do I accept that effort but I'm even delighted, for there are two major things I wanted to accomplish with each of my stories. Number 1) to entertain. Number 2) to inspire.

That is why I invite any of you to write your own story about anything you want, including something based on this story.

For instance, I left the fate of the other clones deliberately open-ended. If any of you want to grab one and pretend it switched, for a time, with any of your OC's, or anyone else of your choosing, go ahead. I both welcome you to run with that idea (or whatever else inspires you) and would love to read whatever you come up with if you let me know. I could even help you edit it if you want.

For a basis, know that the original changeling that started making these clones, and switching them with others, did so around the time of Season 9, episodes 24-25 while Cozy, Tirek, and Chrysalis were keeping everyone else distracted. Sweetie is among the earlier test subjects because he thought a child would be easier to work with, but he worked his way up to higher priority targets after that. About a year later, Sweetie's miracle cure switched them back. When that happened, a few were in that cave immediately but most were on the field. From there, they'll do whatever you imagine they'd do, modified by the fact that they kept different memories of the original and furthermore limited to the perspective of the one they switched with.

Imagination is the fire that lights and creates whole worlds and beyond. Have fun with this sandbox and do as you will with it.

In the meantime, I thank you for joining me on this journey. It has been my pleasure to present it to you, and hopefully has been a pleasure for you to read. If you want, feel free to take a look at any of my other stories. If you do and leave a comment, I'd love to read what you think. Be warned that a few might be hidden behind an M rating, and in both cases so far, it's exactly because of only one chapter.

Before you go, there is one song I came across while listening to Pandora a couple of days before I posted this last chapter that reminded me of this story a little bit because the lyrics somewhat fit the theme of this story. Take a look if you want, though some of you might already be well acquainted with this song. Consider it a final afterthought to send you off with music akin to the credits at the end of a film. Let's see if this song gets stuck "in your head", too.

Enjoy.