After a rousing game of ‘What Percussive Tune Can I Play On My Friend’s Door To Wake Him Up,’ Nectarine gave a broad grin when a very sleepy Beets finally opened up the apartment door and regarded him with a level glare.

“Evening, Moonshine!” caroled Nectarine before hoofing over a doughnut to his friend. “Ready for another exciting evening at work, defending Equestria from an invading insectile horde? Oh, wait. That’s me.” He extended one membranous wing with a foam cup of coffee balanced on it and grimaced once Beets scooped it up with his magic. “What smells?”

“Bug,” said Beets, before burying his nose in the coffee.

“No, I mean it stinks in here. Have you been painting?”

“In a way.” The stocky stallion moved out of the way so Nectarine could step inside, although the nocturne kept his wings moving to shift as much of the stuffy air into the apartment hallway as possible. The immobile lump of battered insect in the middle of the floor was no longer covered by a blanket, but instead was somewhat sprawled out across the floor on its back, with all four legs sticking up just like it had died in the most stereotypical fashion possible for a bug. Upon further examination, the creature’s hooves had been wrapped in cloth and tied to long thin cords which were in turn looped through eyebolts screwed into the ceiling.

Nectarine let out a long whistle. “Your landlady’s going to go spare. You told me she wouldn't even let you hang up more than one picture. Did you decide to get funky with the bug or something?”

“Something,” said Beet Salad, picking up his paintbrush and resuming his interrupted task. One fractured leg of the creature was not quite the shade of deep purple as the rest, which confused Nectarine for a moment until Beets dipped his brush into the tin on the floor and resumed painting. The ‘paint’ or whatever it was soaked into the elastic wraps around the creature’s broken leg, forming a soft gleam while it began to dry.

“Smells like hoof shellac,” started Nectarine. “Oh, my stars! You’re painting it entirely in hoof shellac? Kinky! No wonder you don’t have a marefriend.”

“Not all,” grunted Beets while he worked. “Staying away from joints. Used elastic bandages around the worst of the breaks, and this should provide some stability when it sets, a little like doped fabric on the airships.”

“I can’t tell if you’re a genius or a raving loon.” Nectarine tapped on his chin with a hoof. “Maybe both.”

“It was your suggestion,” said Beets, wiping off the brush and putting the top on the can of shellac. “After it dries, I should be able put on a second coat this morning after work.”

“If it’s still alive,” said Nectarine.

“She,” said Beets, reaching out with his magic to adjust the tension on the cord holding up the creature’s nearest leg. It took a while before he was satisfied that the shellac-covered limbs were arranged correctly, and although the creature did not move any more than to continue its labored breathing, he arranged the bowls of water and food by the creature’s head before straightening up with a yawn. “Come on, or we’ll both be late for work.”

Normally, Beets was more than happy to plod around the moonlit docks without another soul for company, but with only a few short naps snuck in the last two days, he would have welcomed any kind of companionship on the sweltering walk while the concrete of the airship towers and dense paving stones radiated their heat back out into the night air. The key to not falling asleep was constant movement while trying not to think about anything sleep related, like pillows, blankets, or even sheep, or anything other than putting one hoof in front of another on his patrol path. The docks had just started to cool down to a livable temperature while Beets was sucking down his sixth cup of coffee for the evening when the flutter of wings from above cued the sudden arrival of his friend.

“Beets!” Nectarine landed with an uncharacteristically heavy thud onto the wooden walkway right in front of him and promptly spat out a newspaper, which landed in the spilled coffee caused by his arrival.

“Good heavens, Nek,” spluttered Beet Salad. “Warn a guy before you do anything like that.” Beets really expected some wisecrack about ‘ever-vigilant guards’ or sleepwalking, anything but the rapid way his friend opened the paper with one hoof and pointed at the headline.

Below the headline, there were several pictures of strange bug-like creatures attacking ponies in Canterlot during Princess Mi Amore Cadenza’s wedding, pictures bearing a striking resemblance to the creature Beets had last seen lying on her back on his apartment floor when he had left for work.

“See, right here!” yammered Nectarine while flipping ahead a page. “They’re some sort of bug who can take the form of anypony you know and feed off your love for them. One of them even took the form of Princess Cadence and nearly defeated Princess Celestia! Page five, where is page five?” He pawed frantically through the paper to the indicated page before stopping with an aggrieved snort.

“Don’t read that,” muttered Nectarine, quickly flipping a page over the picture of his beloved Princess of the Night and several Night Guards with big question marks over them. “Or that,” he added when an article entitled “Shining Armor - Duped or Deceiver” made its appearance. Hoofing back to the front page, Nectarine pointed at the changeling photographs. “Well?”

After a closer inspection of the newspaper, Beets shrugged. “It couldn't have been her, because I picked her off the docks about the time those photos were shot. She was never even near Canterlot during the wedding.”

“Don’t call that… thing, a she!” hissed Nectarine with his ears flattened back and a distinct cat-like hunch to his back making Beets think of a kitten facing a wolverine.

“Why? Because it’s the only female in the city you haven’t tried to screw?” If Beets had been a little less sleepy, the sharp rejoinder would never have slipped out. The romantically inclined nocturne had been his best friend, well, only real friend since elementary school, and he could see the muscles in Nectarine’s neck stiffen when the jab struck home.

“I’m telling!” Nectarine froze after speaking, looking all the world like the embarrassed little colt in school he had once been when the teacher had covered the basics of the Birds and the Bees, only to be corrected in terminology by her little batwinged student.

“Don’t you dare!” hissed Beets right back. “She’s hurt really bad. Moving her to the Coldheart Jail could kill her, and you know that’s the first thing they’ll do if the Baltimare cops get their hooves on her.”

The comparison earned him a hesitant grimace from Nectarine, who had become intimately familiar with the depressing chilly stone prison, due to several less-than-successful encounters with less-than-entertained husbands of his romantic encounters. “Well, we can’t… I mean you can’t just keep her. What if she attacks you?”

Beets gave his friend a flat look. “Really? She can’t even stand up or pee on her own, so what makes you think she’s dangerous?”

“Well… what if she… I mean it dies?”

The shrug he gave in response brought a pain to his chest, the same pain Beets had felt when each of the other rescued creatures he had tried to save had died. “Everypony dies. If she does, I’ll… take her to the police and explain.”

“Oh, that’ll be something to tell the rest of the guys at work. And if it gets better?” Nectarine eyed his friend warily. “I don’t want to show up at your door and find you all sucked dry some evening by your little bedbug.”

“When she gets better, and I’m sure she’ll survive the experience, I’ll turn her over to the cops.” He drew an imaginary X across his chest and spit into one hoof before sticking it out to his friend.

“Well…” Nectarine gingerly shook hooves. “If you get killed from this, I’m going to get ‘I told you so!’ inscribed on your tombstone.”

“If I get killed from this, I promise to haunt your bedroom so you can tell me every day,” said Beets. “Who knows, it might even attract a better class of mares for you.”

The rest of the evening patrol passed fairly quickly because thoughts of the creature, the ‘changeling’ kept any desire for sleep at a good leg’s length. His trip back home was delayed somewhat by Supervisor Fits catching him punching his card at the time clock and announcing that due to Beet Salad’s leadership potential, but much more likely because he was the only unicorn watchpony on the night shift, he had been selected to learn the Changeling Detection Spell. Well, just as soon as somepony from Corporate had traveled to Canterlot and learned it from the Royal Guard, which of course would take several levels of approval, multiple weeks of per diam in the capital, and a possible promotion, although not for Beets.

“Other assigned duties my flank,” he grumbled while plodding home, although without Nectarine’s familiar presence at his side. The rather agitated nocturne pegasus was instead waiting at Beets’ door with a bag full of clinking cans and a nervous expression not made one bit more relaxed by the sight of Beet Salad’s landlady, who rounded on the two of them before Beets could get a word out.

“Hey! You’re not rooming with another stallion, are you?” Missus Spitonoikokýris glared at Beets and Nectarine with narrowed eyes and a sharp snap of her beak. “Your contract says only one occupant to the apartment. Any more, and I’ll need more bits.”

“Good morn, Madam.” Beets put on a false smile and tried not to think about the crippled changeling in the middle of his apartment floor and the expensive No Pets policy it was certainly breaking by simply existing, alive or dead.

The landlady snapped her beak again and made a grab at the bag of cans Nectarine was holding. “Probably throwing some sort of wild party for you and your bat-buddies too. Laying around like slugs and drinking — Bugaway Fogger?” The elderly griffoness held the can of insecticide at arms’ length and squinted suspiciously at it.

“He’s got bedbugs, Missus Spitonoikokýris.” Nectarine’s face was a perfect example of the same blissful sincerity which had gotten him into and out of so many bedrooms as he continued, “I was going to treat his apartment for free since he’s a friend of mine, but if you want me to charge the full price to y—”

“No!” The elderly griffoness recoiled, much like a vampony being shown a room full of golden Princess Celestia memorabilia. She straightened her ruffled feathers and glared at Beets. “I’ll be watching you. There’s plenty of ponies who’d be willing to rent this apartment for a lot more bits than I charge you.”

Beets held his tongue until the landlady had vanished down the stairs, and only then grumbling, “Cheap bitch.”

“If you want, I could spread a few dead cockroaches around the hallways,” suggested Nectarine. “We’ve always got a bunch after fumigating the incoming shi—” He broke off abruptly when he saw the cold look in Beet Salad’s eyes.

“What are you doing with the bug poison, Nek?”

“Ah…”

Beets’ eyes narrowed to mere slits. “You weren’t going to spray under the door and fog my room to kill the bug, were you?”

“I… Uh…” Nectarine sat the bag down and took a deep breath while looking Beets right in the eyes. “You’re my best friend, so I’ll be straight with you. Yes.” After a few seconds of painful silence, Nectarine rummaged around in the bag and pulled out a newspaper with ‘Special Edition’ all across the top. In addition to a whole page of insectile photos, it had several breathless articles about the invasion titled ‘My Wife Was Replaced By A Changeling’ and ‘Governmental Purge Of Changelings Demanded By Parliament.’ There was even a speculative-appearing diagram of one of the elusive bugs with weird labels and captions on the body parts, giving the distinct impression the newspaper artist had not actually seen what he had drawn, but was just making it up as he went along.

“These bugs are dangerous, Beets. One of them put the whammy on Shining Armor and almost killed Princess Cadenza and Princess Celestia right inside Canterlot. That’s the most secure area of Equestria, and the changelings just waltzed in and took over! I thought—”

“You thought if she just died, it would be easier for both of us,” growled Beets. “You wouldn’t have to turn her into the cops, I wouldn’t get in trouble, and she’d be dead. You didn’t think about how I would feel about it, did you?”

“I…” The bat-winged stallion paused with one hoof in the air and his mouth open. “I suppose not. But this changes things, Beets. You didn't just drag home some stray that got hit by a wagon. She’s an enemy of Equestria.”

“She’s an injured creature, and she's going to die if I don’t take care of her.” Beets used his magic to fish the key out from his pocket and unlock his front door. “That is, unless she’s dead already.”

At first glance, it appeared Beets’ fears were correct. The bug had seemingly not moved from the position it had been in when they had left the apartment a few hours ago, with the food and water dishes untouched. Only the slow movement of its purple-shellacked sides showed it was still alive, and even those movements were slow and indistinct.

“Enemy of Equestria,” muttered Beets after putting away his work equipment and kneeling down to inspect the injured bug. “I’m terrified.”

“It could be playing possum,” protested Nectarine. “Lurking in wait until it can… Yeah, it’s pretty pathetic.”

“Like me,” said Beets. He got out the rest of the shellac and unwrapped the brush before kneeling down besides the creature and beginning to put on a second coat. Still standing at the open door as if he were afraid to come inside, Nectarine fidgeted and waved his wings a few times to help air out the small apartment. After watching for a while and shifting uncomfortably while his friend worked, the tall Nocturne cleared his throat.

“You’re not pathetic, Beets. Don’t ever think—”

“Everything I’ve ever cared about has died on me,” growled Beets while he painted. “My mother. Dad. My little brother. All I want is for one single thing I care about to live.”

“You’re not pathetic,” clarified Nectarine. “You’re just plain weird. You could always adopt a kitten.”

“Did,” growled Beets while working on painting a particularly difficult body part. “I think Missus Spitonoikokýris ate it.” He painted in silence for a while before adding, “Thanks, Nek.”

“No prob.” The pest pony shouldered the bag of clanking cans. “You’re my best friend, Beets. I’ll look both ways before crossing the street, not stand underneath any ships unloading cargo, and keep an eye on you in case the bug gives you any trouble. At the first sign of mind control, I’ll hose you both down. It’s the least I can do.”

“You could go home and let me work,” grumbled Beets while he painted. “All this lovey smoochy stuff while you're watching my ass makes me think you’re trying to make a pass at me again.”

The apartment seemed so much smaller when Nectarine finally left Beets to his ongoing painting project. The second coat of shellac made the bug appear far less lethally injured and more like some particularly odd art project. Before putting away the remnants of the can, he used the brush to touch up a few of the more injured looking areas, careful to avoid painting closed the area under her tail. A dribble of urine showed she was still at least alive in some small regard, and he spent a few fruitless minutes with a spoon trying to get the changeling to drink at least a little water to replace what she was losing. She moved her head away when he touched her lips with the damp spoon, twisting in her bonds even when he forced it between her lips. It was of little use, because the injured changeling promptly spit the water out and panted, apparently winded by this tiny act of defiance.

“Please?” Beets sat in the dampness of the spilled water bowl where the changeling had tipped it over in her fight to remain dehydrated, feeling the terrible sensation of tears beginning to climb up into his eyes despite his best efforts. It would only be logical for him to stalk out into the streets and flag down a police officer. They would take care of the injured changeling far better than he ever could, and she would probably die either way. There was no rational reason why he was sitting on wet newspaper across his living room floor while trying to take care of a dying changeling, but the feeling of dampness on his rear was soon matched by several treacherous trickles down his cheeks. It was an act of pure futility to keep filling up the water bowl whenever the bug managed to tip it over in her struggles. It made no sense to keep trying. It was stupid. It was dumber than anything he had ever done, and that was saying something. With every spoonful of water rejected, he felt the urge to simply throw it all away and stalk out into the sunlit streets. But he kept it up, despite the growing knots in his shoulders and the blurring of his vision.

Making yet another determined promise that this was the last time, he dipped the spoon back into what little water remained in her bowl and tried to wedge it between her lips. “Take it. Take it you little…”

One eye opened suddenly, revealing a teal orb without pupil or any other distinguishing characteristic that could explain the crushing feeling of complete despair and misery sweeping across him. The lips opened just enough to suck in the few drops of water on the spoon, there was a brief pause while the creature swallowed, and then it opened its mouth again, only this time to talk, not to drink.

“Kill me,” it rasped.