Seven Meetings and a War

Uniformed changelings swarm every part of the narrow street, like oversized blue-grey insects: rushing out of trucks, deploying barricades, storming the towering apartment blocks under the cover of flashing cerulean lights. Any civilians with a scrap of sense would have vacated the area the moment the trucks arrived on the scene, leaving only a sea of blue on the normally quiet, midnight street.

A nondescript, brown sedan is quickly waved through the barricades. It shudders to a halt in one of the last available spaces on the street, looking rather underwhelming among the armoured trucks looming on either side of it.

Shutting off the ignition, the Pony steps out of the car and takes a look around. He easily spots the brown-furred earthpony he's looking for, sticking out like a sore thumb among the changelings.

"Poetic!" he calls out as he briskly trots over.

The earthpony turns around, breaking off the conversation he's having with a pair of changelings dressed in darker blue uniform. His face lights up.

"You're late!" Poetic Prose doesn't sound particularly angry as he gives the Pony a tight hug. "It's been a while, dude. How are you?"

The Pony breaks free of the embrace and shrugs. "Tired of all that desk work. Dep' office couldn't find any excuse to keep me off this one, though."

"You still shouldn't be here, Jaeger Hunter," spits out one of the changelings with all the venom of a cobra. She looks up and down the Pony disgustedly. "Maybe if you had taken a few minutes to even button your shirt, we wouldn't have to deal with you at all."

Raising his eyebrow, the Pony replies coldly, "And you are?"

"Hey, we're all working together here," Poetic scolds. "I want to see everyone acting professionally. No nicknames, no comments."

"Hoorah, sir." The Pony mock-salutes. "What are we doing today, where are our guns, and who do I have to foalsit?"

Poetic pauses, as if debating whether to respond to that last comment, but decides on ignoring it. He pulls an official-looking yellow folder from his saddlebags.

"This is retaliation for yesterday's attacks, but don't take that as an excuse to break things, yeah Our main force is conducting a sweep of the entire block. They're going to be knocking down doors with known Loyalists inside, as well as searching for tunnels and removing any Loyalist propaganda from the public space."

"Our job, though, is to question locals and search flats which have been flagged with suspicious mail or phone activity. Less chance of danger, more paperwork afterwards."

One of the changelings raises a hoof. "Eh, which building are we doing this in?"

Poetic grimaces. "All of them. We'll start with Block A."

The changelings audibly groan. The Pony, meanwhile, feels a tug at the corners of his mouth. An entire night out in the field? He'll take it.

After the mishaps with Aspen and Spring, he was quietly relegated to become a desk worker at the newly formed Vesalipolian Police Department. Being put under the command of changeling harmonists, who weren't overjoyed to be working with a pony infamous for 'military brutality', was an effective dead end to his career.

Nothing of the sort for ponies like Poetic, though, who rose through the ranks far faster than he did in the military. The Pony is fairly certain he's outranked by Poetic now, but he hasn't bothered to check.

They needed the Pony's expertise in the end, after all. The Pony smiles at the thought. Ofcourse they did. Who else would be willing to take the hard choices to stop the Loyalists? The right choices? Not the harmonist changelings, with their pacifism and vague idealism. Not the other ponies, who would like to distance themselves as much as possible from the whole mess in the Changeling Lands.

"Just me," the Pony mutters. "I can fix things."

Everyone stares at him, pausing in the process of grabbing rifles from a nearby rack.

"What was that?" asks Poetic, with some confusion.

"Nothing." The Pony levitates one of the guns over and inspects it. It's a compact, stubby machinegun. Perfect for firing indoors. "Do we expect to be attacked?"

"No... but because of your delay we're not getting an escort," Poetic explains, his eyes still narrowed. "Better to err on the side of caution."

He raises his voice. "Now, everyone, here's the plan. Occiput and Meso, you two take the lower half- that's up to the tenth floor. We'll search the upper half. Meet at the ground floor once we're done, discuss and note down what we've found, and move on to the next building. Note down anything we could use to build a case. If things get a little heated, get a police team in there. All ready? Let's go."

"Yes, sir!" the changelings shout in unison.

The Pony simply nods and follows as they move to the end of the street. He lags slightly behind the group. Noticing that, Poetic deliberately slows his pace to trot alongside him.

"Hey, uh..." he says in a casual manner. "Are you sure you're up for this?"

The Pony ducks under a levitating crate, and asks as he straightens up again, "What do you mean?"

Poetic averts his gaze. "We might have to deal with some tough situations."

"You think I can't handle it?" the Pony guesses.

Poetic snorts. "I'm sure you can handle anything. I'm more concerned about how you'll do it." He pauses. "We don't want to... get anyone killed."

Does everyone think the Pony is some kind of killing machine?

"Relax, I only have a thing against Jaegers. Loyalists too, maybe. You think they deserve your concern?" he challenges.

"That's for the courts to decide," Poetic sighs out. "Dealing out justice isn't your job."

They cross the threshold of an apartment entrance into a filthy and poorly lit lobby. A lone police officer stands guard with a rifle from the corner, completely hidden except for their wide, luminescent eyes. The changelings depart to the corridor on the left, leaving the Pony alone with Poetic.

"Meso and Occiput are good 'lings," Poetic says suddenly. "I can trust them to get the job done, but that's not the only reason I put them together."

He takes a deep breath. "I... I really want this to go smoothly. I know you have your... beliefs... but just for this one operation, please, don't do anything stupid."

Taking a look at Poetic's face, the Pony has to bite back a snarky response. The earthpony is staring down at his own hooves with a resigned, almost fatalistic expression. As if he already knows what the Pony's response will be.

Why not prove him wrong?

The Pony hmphs. "Fine, ye of little faith. I'll keep myself in check, if that's what you want. For now."

Poetic swivels his neck towards him in amazement. His face melts into an appreciative smile as he processes what the Pony is saying. "Thank you. I... that means a lot."

Glancing away, the Pony runs a hoof along his mane. He's not sure how to respond to that level of warmth. "Right. Elevator?"

Poetic moves to try the elevator. The gate creaks open when he tugs it aside, but the lift itself is nowhere to be seen. "Stairs it is. Double time, we need to move quickly."

The two ponies rush up the stairs. The Pony has to keep a careful eye out to keep his hoof from slipping into one of the many gaps in the tiles.

They exit the stairwell at the tenth floor, stepping into a narrow corridor with a moldy red carpet. A line of officers file past them, apparently having screened the area already. There are friendly nods given to Poetic, but the Pony receives only blank stares and suspicious glares.

"Right, it's number... 1007," Poetic says, checking the dossier. "1045 is next."

The Pony regards the cheap sheet door with '1007' printed in bold white letters. "Do we knock or just kick it down?"

Poetic shoots him an unamused glare. "Knock. We're asking questions, not conducting an assault." He raps loudly on the door and shouts, "Police! Open up in the name of the monarchy!"

Turning to the Pony, he instructs quietly, "I'll do the talking, you stay back and help me if there's any trouble, yeah?"

"My Changeling language is pretty good too," the Pony snaps. He feels that familiar irritation stirring up at Poetic's constant attempts to shunt him to the back. "You think I can't ask some basic questions?"

"Do you want to talk to any changelings?" points out Poetic. "I thought you wouldn't like it, dude, that's all. No need to bite my head off."

The Pony ruffles his mane in irritation. "Yeah, well, give me a little consideration too, alright?"

Before Poetic can respond, the lock of the apartment door clicks and it is thrown wide open. A changeling stares out with purple eyes narrowed in suspicion. He wears a tie and white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, as if he's just stepped out of an office.

"Ah, good night, sir," Poetic begins, adopting a professional tone that tells nothing of the altercation that just took place. "We're from the VPD, and we'd appreciate it if you could answer a few questions."

The Pony notes that Poetic doesn't introduce them by name. It's probably not just for security reasons; they have Celestia-knows-how-many more flats to go through, and pleasantries take up time they don't have.

The changeling looks taken aback. "Questions...?" he repeats.

Poetic steps forwards, seemingly out of impatience. "Yes, questions. We suspect there is Loyalist activity in this building. Do you know anything about that?"

"Loyalists," the changeling repeats again. It doesn't seem like any of the words are reaching his head.

"Loyalists, changeling," the Pony articulates in Changeling language. "Loyalists, do you know of any?"

He's suddenly aware of hoofsteps from behind. He turns around to see another changeling, with faint blue stripes along his head.

"What- what's going on?" the blue changeling says in a wobbling voice. "There's police everywhere, did you see?"

"Who the fuck are you?" The Pony isn't sure whether changelings wandering the corridors are supposed to be detained.

The changeling recoils backwards, hesitating. "I- I'm-"

"Get inside, Maxilla," the first changeling interrupts. There's a pause as 'Maxilla' does nothing, staring stock-still at the Pony. "Come on. I'm just having a word with these officers. There's nothing to be afraid of."

'Nothing to be afraid of.' That ticks off the Pony for a reason he can't quite pin down. He pointedly refuses to move out of Maxilla's way.

"Is this your son?" he asks. Maxilla looks young enough, likely barely in his mid-twenties. The Pony has no idea how old the first changeling might be.

"No, flatmate."

The Pony sees a hoof shifting at the edge of his vision. He reflexively hits it away before he realizes the changeling is just reaching for Maxilla.

"Flatmate, you say?" the Pony repeats suspiciously. He notes Maxilla's saddlebags, apparently full of something. Convenient of him to seek shelter just as the police are conducting their sweep.

If this is a Loyalist trying to hide something sensitive, then they're also a threat.

The Pony places both his forehooves on Maxilla's shoulders, and in a single motion propels him against the wall. He keeps the changeling pinned there.

"Hey!"

"Steady on!" Poetic yells. The Pony ignores him.

"What's in the bags, changeling? Come on, tell me," he orders. He easily holds down the scrawny changeling, despite his best efforts to escape.

"Nothing, pony!" The question seems to further agitate Maxilla. "Let me go!"

"You're going to regret that answer." If words don't work...

The Pony raises his hoof, planning on giving the changeling a light cuff on the head, but it's blocked by Poetic. The Pony looks to him in outrage.

"What are you doing?" Poetic asks silently, a dangerous hint of rage simmering beneath his words. He keeps his hoof firmly on the Pony's. "There's no need for that."

"He's refusing to comply," the Pony fumes, feeling more bewildered than angry now. He snatches his hoof back and tries to read Poetic's glowering expression. Why is Poetic stopping him?

Ah, right. 'Don't do anything stupid'. Does Poetic think this counts as stupid?

Sighing in frustration, the Pony lets go of Maxilla, who immediately rushes past him towards the other changeling. He can berate Poetic later.

The two changelings hug, with the first changeling whispering something the Pony can't quite make out. Maxilla nods and disappears into the apartment, taking the suspect saddlebags with him.

"Well? Have you seen any Loyalists, changeling?" the Pony snaps, eager to get this over with, now that he has the changeling's attention again.

"I..." trails off the changeling. He shuts his eyes, thinking of a response, before reopening them. "I'm afraid I don't know about any Loyalists. Is there anything else, or can I get back to bed, officers?"

If Poetic is surprised by the changeling's calm demeanor after what just happened, he doesn't let it show. "Are you certain you haven't heard anything? Rumours?"

The changeling smirks and simply shakes his head. The Pony exchanges a subtle glance with Poetic. Suspicious.

"Well, in that case-" Poetic begins in a casual manner- "can we do a quick search of your apartment?"

The changeling's smile widens. "I don't think you can," he replies tightly, his tone not matching up with his expression.

"Can't we? We're the ones with the uniforms here, changeling," the Pony says in a more relaxed tone. How amusing, the changeling thinking he has any power here.

"You... you need a warrant, don't you?" The changeling is clearly starting to panic; the Pony is now almost certain he's hiding something that he doesn't want the police seeing.

"You're right, sir," Poetic confirms. "We have a warrant to search the building."

Poking out his tongue, the changeling runs it over one of his own fangs. Disgusting. "...but do you have a warrant to search my apartment?" he asks after a moment of thought.

"On reasonable grounds."

"I haven't done anything wrong. What grounds are there?"

To the Pony's satisfaction, the changeling sounds increasingly distressed. He's digging his own grave at this point. Might as well help him along.

Stepping forward past Poetic, the Pony says sternly, "Alright, changeling, stop stalling."

It suddenly occurs to him how toothless this looks after Poetic's intervention earlier. "I was nice with that other 'ling 'cause he looked young. You think you'll be so lucky?"

That does the trick. The changeling twitches and raises his hoof to his shirt once again and stammers out, "I- I'm not stalling. There's no need to search my apartment, I haven't done anything wrong."

Staring past the Pony, the changeling lays the hoof on his chest. "Please. I've done nothing wrong. There's no need for- for anything bad to happen."

The Pony rolls his eyes at this pathetic display. If they haven't reached reasonable levels of suspicion yet, they never will. "Move-"

"That's enough," Poetic cuts in. "We're done here."

The Pony whips his head around in shock. What is Poetic thinking? "We're just going to leave him here?"

Poetic shoots him another glare. "We have other flats to see. Thank you for your time, sir," he says to the changeling. He tips his hat towards him, and simply trots off down the corridor as if nothing has happened.

The Pony remains in place, too shocked to move. He looks between the changeling's stupefied face, and Poetic steadily getting further away. He can't just barge into the apartment by himself, with no idea of what- or who- is inside.

"Grah!" he groans in frustration and turns to catch up with Poetic, leaving the changeling behind.

"What the fuck were you doing back there?" Poetic whispers to him, stopping short a little way down the corridor.

"What the fuck was I doing? That guy was obviously hiding something," the Pony replies incredulously, not bothering to keep his voice down. "Let's go back there and find it."

"I called it off because you-" Poetic pokes a hoof at the Pony's chest for emphasis- "made the situation dangerous. I had no idea what you'd do next."

"The only danger here is the Loyalist weaponry we're missing, jackass. You should have let me search that blue changeling's bags."

"Search their bags?" Poetic repeats incredulously. "You just wanted to hit him! For no reason! That's somepony's son you were shoving into the wall, but you didn't care, did you?"

"Someling's son," the Pony corrects, turning over Poetic's words in his head. He had a reason, didn't he? There was a reason.

Poetic throws his forehooves in the air in exasperation. "What's the difference?"

"You want to know the difference?" The Pony points back down the corridor. "'ling means they invaded your home. Maybe they didn't fire the guns, or drive the tanks, or fly the planes, but they sure as hell helped make the bullets and the fuel and the bombs. 'pony means they fought and bled alongside you."

Poetic stares back blankly, his wrath quickly fading away. "What are you talking about?"

The Pony resists the urge to grab Poetic by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. "The war, Poetic, the war."

There's an awful silence. Poetic's eyes are wide. He takes a hoofstep back, as if the Pony carries some contagious disease.

Of all the possible reactions Poetic could have had, this is the one that unnerves the Pony the most. He feels the urge to fill that silence. "The- the war, the one that got Dream and Divine Sight and everypony else killed, two million-"

"No-"

"-two million ponies, Poetic, they-"

"Nonono, you can't still be going on about that." Poetic gives out a crazed chuckle. "Dude, we won the war... five, six years ago. What the fuck is wrong with you? How can that be the reason for all of this?"

"Don't talk like I'm insane or something," the Pony snaps. "Just because the war is over, doesn't mean the Loyalists are finished. That's what we're doing, crushing them."

Poetic snorts. "You're not 'crushing' anything. You're just looking for some changelings to beat up. You're sick."

The Pony feels suddenly weary. He's heard comments like this before, but never from Poetic. "All I want is justice," he spits out, lowering his head. "That's it. Of all ponies, Poetic, I thought you would understand."

Freezing up, Poetic quietly asks, "What do you mean?"

"Your brother, Elegant. They killed him," the Pony states bitterly. "How could you let that go?"

For a few, unbearable seconds, Poetic simply stares at him silently, expression unreadable. He's afraid he stepped over the line, and is just about to open his mouth to apologize when Poetic starts to speak.

"I guess I couldn't believe you... I mean, dude, I was exactly the same way after they went and killed Elegant and everypony else. I wanted to punish them so badly for what they'd done. Justice." Poetic shuts his eyes and sighs deeply. "There are two problems with that kind of thinking. Who's 'they'?" He opens his eyes to stare at the Pony, waiting for an answer.

"The Loyalists," the Pony states bluntly. The Pony can't see what Poetic is getting at, and is still wary of him after his earlier outbursts. "Who else?"

"And yet you take your 'justice' out on random changelings," Poetic points out. "Just because they might be a Loyalist, or for whatever other reason. What's the point in that?"

The Pony opens his mouth, trying to formulate a response, but he can't find any. When he apprehended the changeling earlier, did he have any real reason to suspect him? Or was he seeing danger where there wasn't any, just because it was a changeling?

He recalls the disgusted look on the changeling officer's face, the suspicious glares from the police. Were they warranted?

He doesn't know what to think.

"And the other reason is... it doesn't change anything." Poetic gives the Pony a sad smile. "I can't bring back Elegant, no matter how much I want to. Nothing can."

"So you gave up," the Pony says dully.

"No. I decided to do something. Instead of inflicting more suffering, I decided to try my best to create a world where... where shit like that doesn't happen.

You can't bring back Dream, or Divine Sight, or anypony else. And I thought you would have realized that by now. Give it up."

The Pony shuts his eyes tightly, trying to control his breathing. He can see some sense in what Poetic is saying, and that terrifies him.

Has he been doing the right thing? It would be so easy to say yes, to keep living that delusion, to keep blaming the Loyalists, or the changelings, for his misery. What other answer is there?

He opens his eyes, silently pleading with Poetic for guidance.

"You can be something more than the 'Jaeger Hunter', dude," Poetic says gently, as though he knows what the Pony is thinking. "When was the last time you've been to Equestria?"

"I never went back," the Pony whispers hoarsely. "There's nothing for me there."

"And there never will be, unless you go and look for it. You could be on a train home tomorrow. You have a nice title, you have more money than you can ever spend..."

The Pony stares silently at the floor, contemplating. What future is there for him if he stays? A miserable existence of withering away at a desk, filling out forms for the changelings, waiting for a chance to do... what, he's not certain of anymore. He already knew the price was too steep to place on anypony else, after what happened with Private Spring.

What about him? What is he paying for the illusion of doing the right thing?

"Think about it. I'll be at apartment 1045." Poetic gives the Pony an awkward pat on the shoulder, and turns to go.

"Poetic."

Poetic stops. "Yes?"

"I'd like to go home."

He'd like to live.