Infiltrating the Infiltrators [Comment-driven story]

You step into the closest unoccupied elevator- Elevator 4- nodding at the attendant.

"Floor forty-three, please- oh, hey! Uh, Adelheid, was it?" You recognize the elevator attendant from yesterday.

He tips his cap at you. "The one and only, missus. Forty-third floor, coming right up. Or rather, we's- we're coming up to them, I suppose."

You wince as the elevator shudders and jolts upwards. "How many floors are there, anyways? Who'd want to live so high up in the air?"

"Aren't you them people who built a city out of clouds? You’ve no right criticizing us with that thing in the air,” Adelheid points out.

“...touché, ‘ling,” you mutter back. You’re mostly trying not to throw up at the motion of the elevator. Why is it swaying side to side?

“As for how many floors there are… I dunno, really. I know they’ve got Her Majesty and all the royal offices up at the tippy top, nice and cozy, but they ain’t going around announcing exactly where they are or how many floors they’ve got up there, no they are not. I’d put it at nearly two hundred though.”

“Aren’t you the elevator operator?” you asked incredulously. “Haven’t you ever had to take someone up there?”

Adelheid shrugs. “I just push the buttons, missus. And when some well-dressed ‘ling tells you which button to push and where it is, you don’t ask questions and you forget right after, if you know what’s good for you. Here’s your stop.”

You bid farewell and make your way to the State Bank. It takes you a second to figure out which of the many identical apartment doors it’s behind, but you smell cigarette smoke wafting out and hear muffled conversation behind one of the doors.

The room falls silent as you open the door. It's exactly the same as it was yesterday: cramped office desks, dim natural lighting, and ridiculously tiny waiting area. Nearly twenty heads swivel to watch as you step up to the reception desk shoved almost right in front of the door.

"Uh, hi?"

A changeling standing nearby rolls his eyes. It's the apparent manager who sent you away yesterday.

"Didn't I tell you to go away, pony? We have actual work to do."

"I thought we were playing paperball-" pipes up a changeling sitting at a desk. Sure enough, he's sitting in a pile of crumpled papers.

"Walt. Please."

You cut straight to the issue. The longer you talk to this rude bastard, the less time you have to talk to potential allies. "Yeah, sorry to interrupt your... work... but isn't helping me out your job? Like I said yesterday, I'm trying to get a loan. Or anything, really."

The changeling sneers. "A loan? For what? Filling in the bomb craters?"

You flinch. He's not far off. Occupied Equestria is little more than a series of crumbling towns and abandoned trenches, outside of Vanhoover.

How are you supposed to respond to that? Would Cold Heart take offense? Play it cool? You don't feel like just shrugging off that comment, but those are your own feelings. Not something shared by a gold mine owner willing to collaborate for a quick buck.

Damn, keeping a disguise is ridiculously confusing.

"Woah- let's all calm down here. Berthold, back up. Take a breather outside or go play some paperball." You're thankfully saved by a pleasant-sounding changeling. He's wearing a fancy suit, rather than the standard office shirt the rest of the 'lings are wearing. He smiles at you as Berthold slinks off to a desk at the end of the room, sparing you one last glare.

At least, you think it's a smile. Changeling facial expressions still aren't your strongest suit.

"Hello, ma'am. Why have you gotten good Berthold so riled up? Did you happen to pay our little operation an ill-timed visit yesterday?"

"Uhh... yeah?" At least this guy is being polite. He's so physically large, though- thick legs, taller than average, and huge wings- that his words seem slightly threatening despite the warm tone. "Wait, weren't you the drunk 'ling who was being-"

"Ahahahaaaa you must have confused me for someling else. I am Lord Tibia, the Managing Director of the State Bank of Pax Chrysalia. Just call me Tibia. I am wholly focused on running this fine bank, small though it may be now. Ah, what business would you be having here, good madame?"

You blink at him. He's definitely the same changeling who was dragged out of the office utterly wasted yesterday morning. You drop the issue, though.

"Well, uh, I heard you're in charge of financing the reconstruction of oc- of Pax Chrysalia. My family owns a gold mine near the border, but we've been struggling to operate it without full, uh, ponypower. We could use some more funds to uh... install machinery, hire some extra hoofs, everything we need to get the mine going. Y'know, like I was trying to tell your, uh, employee."

This part of your cover story is true. The real gold mine has been barely functioning since the start of the war, according to S.M.I.L.E. After all, the same hooves and horns that tug heavy pulleys and shovel tons of dirt could be better used digging trenches and towing cannons than extracting gold.

Most of those hooves and horns never returned.

Tibia taps the reception desk thoughtfully. "...sure. Let's do it."

"Wha..." your jaw drops in shock. "We- just like that?"

"I could change my mind if it would please the good madame." Tibia smirks at you. "I know what you're thinking. Where are the interviews? The stuffy rooms full of accountants and analysts? They are not hiding, madame, they simply do not exist. If we are to rebuild an entire continent from the ground up, it will not be bureaucrats and savvy businesslings who will refit the cogs of industry and life. Nay, it will be the rash and reckless spending of the vast resources available to us that will encourage all peoples to build those cogs and turn them themselves!"

Lord Tibia steps back and bows to the rest of the office. Walt and another changeling enthusiastically clap their hooves. Everyone else has already returned to 'working' and aren't paying attention.

'Rash' and 'reckless' are not the qualities you'd normally attribute to an investor, let alone the director of a government bank. You're not even sure what that rant was about. Lord Tibia catches your look of confusion.

"In short, madame- we begin processing your request right away. It only needs to meet our minimum requirements to be accepted. I presume you are not attempting to scam, swindle, con, hustle, flimflam, or generally trick us in any way?" The changeling looms over you, his tone suddenly threatening.

"I- uhhh... no?" you answer weakly. Tibia is talking way too fast for you to make any sense of him.

"Good. Splendid, in fact. I'll admit, you are our fourth-ever borrower, and with luck, nowhere near our last. The underwriting team will be assessing the terms of your loan. I suggest you fully cooperate with them, madame, or you'll leave with less than you hoped for. Front desk, to the right side."

Lord Tibia stares at you expectantly. After a few seconds you shift uncomfortably and ask, "Do I go or-?"

"Oh! Yes, yes, be on your way."

"Right..." You shuffle around the reception desk and head to the desk indicated.

You can just barely make out a pair of changelings sitting behind the mounds of documents and files, attempting in vain to process some of them.

If you're only the fourth person the bank has ever had to handle, why is there so much paperwork? Does it generate itself? Is it coming from a parallel universe where the bank is actually busy? You will never understand such horrors.

"Take a seat, ma'am."

You look around for a chair. "Should I get one from the, uh, waiting 'room'?"

One of the changelings shoves aside a pile of papers and peers over the desk. "Oh. I thought we- yes, fetch one from over there, if you can, dear. This'll take a while."

You levitate a seat over the reception desk and sit down. The changeling clears the desk a bit more so she can actually see you. It's a relief to be talking to someone normal-sized, and this changeling seems especially old and non-threatening.

"Can I see your entry card or some other identification, please, dear?"

"Uh, sure." You hoof over your card, wincing mentally at the quality of the picture printed on it.

"Cold Heart! What a lovely family name. 'Heart'. Well, I just need you to fill out this form, and I'll have the Ministry of Statistics fetch the information we have on you."

"Oh. Is that really, uh, necessary?" You're not a fan of the idea of getting a government department verifying your story. "Do they even have any information? I mean, on ponies?"

The changeling levitates a paper over to you. "Ofcourse! The Liebessammeldienst keeps track of everyone in the territories we administer. How else would they collect Love, dearie?" She taps on the paper. "Fill as much as you can, please."

You nod and scan the form. It's all just personal information: your name, place of birth, family members, and such. You double check each of the details to make sure you haven't written down any of your own details out of habit.

Cold Heart, not Cold Strike. Remember that.

"All done? Fantastic. I'll send that over to Statistics during the lunch break." The changeling can't find any empty desk space to place the form and resorts to simply tossing it on another pile.

The paperwork grows.

"Is that all?" you ask. You're not seeing any opportunities so far to talk to any of the more interesting characters in the State Bank- like that deer, and Captain Konrad- and you doubt this elderly mare has any interest in becoming friends. Why did intelligence training teach you how to build a rapport when the hardest part is actually finding people to build a rapport with?

"Is that all? Dear, we've only just gotten started. I know nothing about what you do, what you need money for, or how you're going to use it! Let's start with the what."

"Ah." You're getting tired of repeating the exact same information over and over again to Celestia-knows-how-many changelings. "Well, my family runs a gold mine in a remote town north of Vanhoover, near the border with the Changeling Lands. We've been operating it for nearly a century now..."

You recite as much of your cover story as you can presently remember, trying to emphasize any reasons for being dissatisfied with the Equestrian government for extra pro-changeling points. You complain about a lack of funding, poor infrastructure, and the war pulling all of 'your' employees away for nearly an entire hour, accepting the changeling's questions throughout.

"Oh... oh, dearie, it must be so stressful for you to be taking charge of the business after such a dark period... My brother had to do the same with our little store after the unification wars, bless him." The changeling sniffles and dabs her eyes with a napkin.

Maybe you double downed on the problems with the mine a little too hard.

"Heh, I'm not taking charge just yet. Mom and Pa and still have a lot of years left in them. I'd like to help them out the best I can. That's why I travelled all the way here."

The changeling beams at you. "Why, I don't doubt it in the slightest. You'll make your parents proud. I think I've got everything I need, dear. You can come back tomorrow and we'll sort the rest out."

Wow. You almost feel guilty for using your disguise there. Still, it's a good sign that you were able to convince her of your identity so well. Maybe you should consider a career in acting once this is all over.

"Hey, uh... do you know if I could talk to some of the people here? Privately? I'm- one of my friends sent me here, he said an acquaintance works here. I think I recognize them but I want to make sure."

"Oh, that's no problem at all, dear. Berthold wouldn't be happy if you dragged them out right now- he's our secretary and takes his job very seriously- but during the lunch break at two o'clock most of the 'lings here are free for a chat."

"Oh, alright. Thanks." You get up to leave, stopping at the doorway to take a quick scan of the room. For now you'll only be trying to interact with one person. It's already hard enough figuring out what to do with Snap and the Eisenwagen.

You don't spot Captain Konrad for some reason. Does he even work at the State Bank? Tracking him down might be a lot harder than you'd hope, and if he doesn't work here or has left then it doesn't open any new opportunities.

The deer is quietly poring over a document in the corner of the room. You're banking purely on the chance that their species means they don't support Chrysalis.

Lord Tibia laughs at a joke one of the employees has just made. He's been nice to you so far but... not exactly the revolutionary type.

It's time to choose...

Who do you want to talk to?

A - The unknown deer
B - Lord Tibia
C - Captain Konrad, though finding him might be a challenge

Option C wins the vote with 60% of 5 total votes.