Frosty looked at her surroundings before hopping to another roof closer to the middle of town where she thought Rumcake would be. Pegasi wings are relatively silent when you want them to be, really only making an ever so faint noise when they’re flapping. When gliding, there was no noise at all. Unlike the damned changeling wings. Those things will hum like that annoying prick on a long ride that everyone would want to smack.

After much semi-stealthy roof-hopping, Frosty eventually located the middle of the town. From her location on the roof one of the decrepit signs made ample cover to hide behind. She spent the good part of an hour waiting on the roof looking at the ponies coming in and out of the shops and buildings, scouting for Rumcake or the changeling. Eventually, she saw the changeling disguised as Frosty come out of Doctor Galactic’s clinic, and a familiar armoured stallion approach from further up the street.

Raider was itching to take over and make bug-go-splat, internally screaming at Frosty to let her do so, but with Rumcake so close he might shoot Frosty, perceiving the instance as an attack on his marefriend by a mutant.

Rumcake went up to pseudo-Frosty, put his hoof over her, and gave the imposter a peck on the cheek.

Frosty’s eyes blinked in disbelief, at the same time her eyes changing from green to yellow as a sinister grin appeared on her face. “Time for some painting. Nopony takes Rummy away from us!”

Raider Frosty darted off the roof and towards the imposter like a bat outta Tartarus. Pulling a hoof back, she timed it so the punch would collide at the same time as she collided with the changeling. There was a resounding crack as something broke, and the duo rolled over each other and skidded to a halt by slamming into trash cans, even further denting the already mangled receptacles.

Raider wantonly laid punch after punch into the changeling. “That. Is. For. Kidnapping me,” she bellowed. “And. That. Is. For. Taking. My Rumcake!”

Behind her, Raider could hear the mechanical whirring of Rumcake’s minigun as it spun up, readying itself to spray lead into changeling Frosty.

“Step off of Frosty, NOW!” Rumcake bellowed.

The tussle had drawn the unwanted attention of nearby ponies, who had poked their heads out of various establishments, and those that were already nearby when Raider dive-bombed imposter Frosty had been watching slack-jawed.

When silence overcame the situation, one pony blurted out; “Is that some kinda freaky bug-mutant?”

Rumcake shot him a glare that said; ‘Speak again and I’ll empty this load of lead into you instead.’

“Now, somepony enlighten me as to what the fuck is going on!?”

“That thing kidnapped and did this to me!”

“All that I see is a pony-bug mutant that looks like it got itself dipped in a vat of Taint. Doesn’t explain why you attacked Frosty!”

“It’s not Frosty and I’m not a mutant! That thing,” Frosty said punching the still-disguised changeling, warranting Rumcake to step forward as a warning “is a changeling and she, he, it, WHATEVER turned me into one!”

Normal Frosty tried to regain control, but was dissuaded by Raider wanting to do the thing with the paint. Frosty assured Raider that if the changeling tried anything then she’d be alright with letting Raider put it in place again. Blinking and eyes changing back to green, Frosty looked in Rumcake’s direction.

“Get to explaining. Now.”

“Do you know what a changeling is? I mean, the name kinda gives you a massive hint,” Frosty sarcastically deadpanned.

Impersonator Frosty took its turn. “If I’m a changeling then why does she look like that,”

Rumcake glared at the duo while Frosty still pinned down the changeling. “Lets go inside and off the streets to avoid any further unwanted attention. You, get off of… Frosty,” Rumcake nodded at Frosty then the impersonator. “Slowly walk towards the office.”

Frosty and the imposter did just that; getting up slowly and walked towards the office while Rumcake followed, minigun spinning and ready to shoot.

Once inside, Rumcake ushered them down a hall towards the back of the building where there were a few cells and some stockades, the kind that weren’t bolted to the floor for ease of moving around.

“...why are there stockades here?” Frosty asked. “Either you throw fruit at the ponies tied up in them or you’re kinky.”

“Sometimes the cells get full is all and we need somewhere to put the others.”

Rumcake let the minigun wind down and put each pony into a cell of their own, stepping back and sitting on his haunches.

“Now tell me what the fuck is going on. Both of you are claiming to be Frosty, so I’m not going to trust either of you until one of you proves who is the real Frosty.” Rumcake turned to look at Frosty. “You’re going to be Frosty-ling, since you look like her but are one of these changeling things. You’re going to be just Frosty for now,” he finished, pointing at the imposter, then put a hoof to his chin in thought for a moment. “Lets try this.” He pointed a hoof at imposter Frosty. “If I asked you who the real Frosty is, what would she say?” Rumcake finished by pointing at Frosty-ling.

“Then she would say I’m the real Frosty!”

“Same question to you, Frosty-ling.”

“Same answer as that bitch. Reverse psychology isn’t going to work here, Rummy.”

“You know,” imposter Frosty began. “Don’t you think that a changeling would have a more complete transformation instead of a failed attempt. I mean just look, she’s tried to impersonate me but she failed and is stuck half way!”

Frosty-ling gave the imposter an ‘are-you-fucking-kidding-me’, look. “Tell Rumcake how you got the claw on your left leg. You know, the same claw on my left leg.”

“But he already knows!” the impostor insisted. Rumcake raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything in response.

“If you’re the real Frosty then you’ll have the same answer.”

“How do I know you’re not bluffing, huh?”

Frosty-ling nonchalantly reached down to the prosthetic on her leg, undid a pair of small clamps and twisted it a bit, then the prosthetic popped off as she grimaced at the removal, tossing it at the bars with a resounding clang, sitting on her haunches to not fall over.

Both Rumcake and Frosty-ling turned to Frosty.

“Uuhhh…”

“Go on. Do what she did.” Rumcake used a hoof to turn the barrel of his minigun menacingly.

Imposter Frosty just looked at Rumcake dejectedly, heaving a sigh and looking to the floor. “Well, shit.”

Sensing victory, Frosty smugly began, “Hey Rummy, help put my leg back on?”

With a smile and an evil glance at the now-discovered imposter, Rumcake went over to Frosty-ling’s cell, as she put her stump through the slot designed for meals to be inserted into, passing the prosthetic through it to Rumcake. He picked up the green-tinted prosthetic and sat on his haunches in front of Frosty as she held up her stump.

Rumcake attached the prosthetic to its socket. “Ready?” Frosty-ling nodded. He held the metal claw and gave it a push and a pull as Frosty-ling’s mouth hung agape with silent screams from the pain of the metal pins and wires re-attaching to the muscles and nerves.

Frosty flexed the talons and articulated the metallic appendage and its respective digits to make sure everything got connected properly, heaving a relieved sigh at the receding pain.

“Come over to the divider, would you please?” Frosty-ling asked.

Still wearing the Frosty disguise, the changeling cautiously inched closer to the bars separating the cells, standing a head away from Frosty, whom by now had pressed herself against the bars and hung her legs over the spacer.

“What?” the changeling sharply asked.

Frosty’s claw shot out and grabbed the imposter by the throat. Cutting off the air supply, it couldn’t focus its magic into keeping the disguise up because of the lack of oxygen. Even though it had a thick carapace, that didn’t mean it was safe from harm.

The changeling choked as its holey legs and hooves tried to find purchase on the slick bars in an attempt to alleviate some of the pressure from the tight squeeze around its throat.

With her spare hoof, Frosty-ling pressed a section on the foreleg of the talon and a small lever flicked out. “Backup trigger in case the automatic function fails, and it has because I need to clean the remaining goop out. I hope you like painting.”

The changeling’s eyes went wide as it anticipated what was to come. Frosty pulled the trigger back with the crook of her hoof as a panel in the palm of the claw slid open. Covering the area of its oesophagus, Frosty pushed the trigger back down into the place it flicked up from.

Not even a thick changeling carapace could withstand a full load consisting of two buckshot loaded shells to the neck.

In the Wasteland, there are many ways to be decapitated. Idiocy by contrived means, having your head hacked off by raiders or fiends. Or, in this case, complete decapitation by means of shotgun blast.

The changeling’s body slumped to the floor of the cell. Its dull-green blood and flesh sprayed out of its neck while the rest of the blood pooled from the neck onto the floor, projected by the blast and coated the walls of the cell behind it, peppering the wall with the holes of the buckshot. The head fell free of Frosty’s grip, not having enough to hold onto.