A vulpine hand slapped down a paper. "It's all here, in black and white." He looked across the table to the other leaders of the TSDI. "I say we call them on their bluff."

A weasel bobbed his head. "Yes yes, show the world they are liars! Then their friends will turn on them. Let them dig their own grave."

"I doubt," added a bear with a crown. "That they are doing much more than fishing for allies against us."

Force tapped his fist on the table, a finger extending in the motion to point out over the others. "Exactly why I don't intend to even recognize this as anything more than the desperate ramblings of the losing side."

A few shared glances. How much America was 'losing' was... debatable...

"I can see your doubt." He smiled softly. "But their invasion is coming. Within the week, they will be scrambling to keep TSDI forces outside of the heart of their land. Their citizens will know the horror of war, and maybe they will beg for peace."

The fox waved a hand, the elbow of the same arm on the table. "They're already offering peace. Why not send the council member they asked for? You'd lose nothing in trying, and look like the bigger creature."

The bear huffed, form inflating a moment before shrinking again. "Because the council is dead." He raised a great ursine finger at Commander Force. "Why aren't you?"

"Because I wasn't there, obviously." Force scowled at the bear king. "Are you imply--" He had to pause, wrenching out a cloth to deposit phlegm and blood in a display of illness. "Excuse me. As I was saying, what are you getting at?"

The weasel waved a smaller hand quite energetically. "Get a new one! Time for a new council. You can do that can't you?"

It was, in fact, quite within his power to begin the process of assembling a new council. It was... his duty to do just that, as it would be any councilmember who was witness to an insufficient number of other council members. "You are correct. Do you want me to be doing that instead of managing this war?"

The fox put out both hands. "It's not an either/or situation. You can get those wheels moving while you focus on the battles. It'll be less of a bad look than... I dunno... crowning yourself Commander."

It had been a project over a year in the making. Countless diamond dogs had made a lifetime supply of gems in the process, but they had burrowed deep and far. They had expanded tunnels and reinforced them. They had died and bled and worked within the bowels of the earth, but their project would soon be done.

The forces of the TSDI would have their chance at sweet revenge. No american doctrine was truly prepared for an enemy to attack from below.

President Rason slowly exhaled. Things were calming down... The minotaurs were in a corner, being pummeled, hopefully into submission. The war, as terrible was it was, was winding down.

He could breathe.

His phone rang and he snatched it up.

"Mister President," came the female voice. "Someone claiming to be your mother is on the line. She said to mention a 'momma C'? Should I send her away?"

There went his blood pressure. "Put her through..."

The phone went dead a moment before he heard a click of the line switching over. "Is this who I think it is?"

"Of course," came Chrysalis' agitated tone. "It's time."

"Yes, it is time to--"

"What are the codes?"

"Excuse me?" He hiked a brow at the phone.

"The codes, you know them. What are they?"

"Whatever codes you have in mind change constantly, and I don't know them because they change constantly. That's the point. Look, I have a country to--"

"--Insolence!" the irate former-queen of changelings shouted into the phone. "We have limited time. It's time to take over, make it happen."

"No."

Unseen, Chrysalis peered at her floating phone. "What do you mean no? Is this thing not working?!"

"I will not help you do that."

"You do it or I just reveal what you really are and we'll see how long it takes for the humans to tear you apart."

The line went dead. Rason had hung up.

He cupped his face in his hands. He had done all he could do... His secret would come out, and he would be loathed, and he deserved it. He deserved every scrap of it... But America deserved better. Pharynx deserved better. If he was outed as a changeling, they would suffer terribly.

What could he do?

He sat up, his hands going to his desk. There was only one right thing to do. There was exactly one course of action that would see justice done, America served best, and innocents spared.

He reached for his phone and called up his vice president.

The doctor entered the room and dropped the clipboard he had been holding. There was no nurse to call, so he had to do it himself. His patient was swollen around the face and throat in what appeared to be a severe allergic reaction. Ponies weren't supposed to have reactions to blood, and yet there Twilight was, possibly not getting air.

He grabbed a needle and filled it with a relief drug that he could only pray worked on ponies as well as it worked on humans. He fired it into her without a moment of delay, for good or bad. He was already getting out steroids to help with things, muttering foul curses as he went. She had been peacefully recovering!

Delayed reactions were the worst, allowing one to have a false sense of security. "C'mon." He knew she was royalty. He did not want a literal princess dying on his watch. Not that he wanted anyone dying on his watch.

His world suddenly tumbled as he was thrown away violently. "Stop!" came Starlight's firm voice despite her still being weak. "Stop..." She sagged against the door, heaving. "Twilight, I know you can hear me. Celestia-damn it... Snap out of it!"

Twilight's horn suddenly flared, her magic lashing around the room in angry jolts of power. Her eyes opened and she drew a loud ragged gasp, but there were no pupils. Her eyes were filled with light, magic pouring out of her like a fountain as adrenaline pumped through her body.

"Twilight! Oh--" She was struck by a lance of purple magic and knocked clear of the room, crashing against the guard rail just outside. Already weak, Starlight slid to the floor, unconscious.

The doctor scrambled away from the magically melting down unicorn, barely managing to slam the metal door shut as a wave of power crashed into it, knocking it right back open and throwing him back to trip over Starlight, the both of them in a tangled pile a moment later.

Twilight sat up, a hoof to her head. "Oof, what happened? Why is my tongue so thick?" She could barely breathe, it felt like, and she had to focus on each uneven gasp for air, but she was awake, and alive.

Healing could properly begin.

The vice president sat across from President Rason. "You wanted to see me?"

"I did... I will be retiring; resigning. You will be the next president. I have a request... a large request."

The vp was quiet, watching Rason.

"I will resign, you will become president, and you will immediately pardon John Rason." He held up a hand. "But I am... not John Rason. I will leave as people know me, and hopefully remember fondly. I will step out of the limelight and immediately into captivity. I will be tried in a dark courtroom for the crimes I have committed and what is done with me, is up to other people. I will not resist."

"You're going to have to explain that a little--"

John Rason revealed his true form, becoming the changeling he always had been. "I'm sorry."

The VP's right hand clutched the arm of his chair powerfully. He had expected many things, but not that. "For how long?"

"Since before I even announced I would run for president..." He resumed being John Rason. "But this was not the work of Thorax, I swear. He and his changelings are innocent... I was following the orders of a rogue, and I will disclose all the details, but first we need John Rason to stop being president... and then I will turn myself in, and we can finish this war without... this over our heads. She has already threatened to go public with this. If I'm not here, that threat goes away. For America, I must do this."

"This is a huge thing you're throwing in my lap..."

"I know... I know and I can't say how sorry I am, and I even know it'll never be sorry enough. I am ready to pay for my crimes, but America shouldn't pay for my crimes. Help me help America, then you can throw every book you have at me. I will not run. I will not resist." His voice was both determined and haunted. He was signing up for anguish, but he was doing his job.

"What happened to the real John Rason? You... weren't always him, right?"

"No... no... He's... I can't confirm if he's alive or dead. I stole his life... I am guilty of a lot... I'm not resisting that. I know that. I know!" He slammed a fist on the table, as frustrated at himself as anything else. "Let's close this miserable chapter, and I'll turn myself in."

"I'm sorry, People of America. The war is moving in a positive direction, but I cannot lead you the rest of the way. It is with a heavy heart that I resign my office. It was a privilege, one I felt at times was undeserved, to work for you all. My replacement will work to continue what I started." He gave a hunted smile to the crowd. "Thank you for this opportunity."

It was over all so quickly. He smiled for the cameras and walked just out of sight of all the cameras, but that John Rason never came out the other end of the building. FBI agents closed in around him and he didn't resist as he was walked away into a different van, a body double climbing into the car people expected to see drive away.

He was taken away, to be interrogated. There was no assurance he'd even get a proper trial, nor did he beg for that chance. He was guilty by every measure of the word, and he accepted what he was given.

Such was the fate of John Rason, who was also a changeling.

A scientist held a large rifle-like device in his hands, directing it down an indoor range at a target. "Firing one salvo," he announced as he dropped to a knee and took a shot. There was barely any sound. There was light, the barrel of the gun flashing from within.

The target erupted, a hole appearing. It wasn't near the head or torso targets, no one said that scientist was a great shot, but it had happened. The next shot was closer, then closer still. The gun had little recoil, almost none, and propelled the bullets down the barrel with frightful velocity with no gunpowder involved.

Sunburst trembled as he watched it. The first magic-powered gun had been born, and he would not celebrate its birthday.

Author's Notes:

John Rason. Could there have been a nicer ending for him?

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