“Did you get us a script writer?” Red asked as Franz entered the building. He was waiting by the front door to ambush him.

“Yes. She wasn’t my first choice, but she came recommended from a talented writer.”

“That sounds pretty bad.”

“You know what else is bad? Looking for a writer for a zero-budget production. Get on my back when we have some money to spend.” Franz was wearing a long-sleeved shirt to hide the state of his infected arm. It had reached his upper bicep and would soon take over his shoulder. He didn’t need to be worrying about the troupe’s next play.

“Excuse me,” a faint voice whispered from behind. Franz turned to see a pale mare with light blue hair. Franz recognized her, not just for her work in the industry, but because she’d been in the audience during the last show. It was Coco Pommel, a rising costume and fashion designer.

Red pushed Franz aside while he put on his usual smooth-talking routine, “To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Pommel?” The mare looked to Franz and then back down to Red.

“I was really interested in your play. And I was wondering if you had any other productions coming up that I could… get involved with,” she said with no small amount of hesitation. She winced when she said it. As if Red would reject to presumably free assistance from a well-known designer and maker.

“That’s not a problem, not at all! In fact Miss Pommel, we’d be happy to have your involving with our play!”

“It’s just that we don’t have a budget.”

Red shot Franz a dirty glare, but Coco didn’t seem surprised. “Oh, I’m well aware that your company isn’t in the best position. I was hoping to expand my portfolio in some unique places.” Red slipped behind her and escorted ger further backstage.

“We’re all hard workers here Miss Pommel…”

“Please, just call me Coco!”

“…And we’ve made great strides in enhancing the theatre. New seats, fixing up the leaky roof…”

Franz followed them as Red showed her the seating area, “And I wonder who is responsible for that.”

Red sighed. “Thanks to our tall, dark and handsome friend here – we’ve been able to renovate this old theatre into the pride of Bridleway! If our next show is as successful as this one, we’ll finally be able to invest money back into the plays themselves.” Coco nodded along as he gave her the not-so-grand tour of the classic building. But then Poppy emerged from behind the curtain and nearly collided with her.

“Oh! Sorry!”

“No, it’s my fault.”

“No, it’s my fault.”

“You don’t need to apologize; I should have looked where I was walking.”

“But I was the one who nearly trotted into you!”

Franz shared a glance with Red as the two mares batted apologies back and forth like a game of tennis. They both broke out into a nervous laughter, followed by an awkward silence. Red stepped in, “This is Poppy, she’s one of our wonderful actresses.”

“The Coco Pommel is touring our building?” she squealed, finally noticing who she was. “I’m a huge fan of your work!”

“Oh really? It’s always nice to meet a fan.”

“The piece you made for the waterside prom. Amazing! How did you even do it?”

Coco blushed, “It was a lot of work – but it was worth it.”

“I assume you can vouch for her skills then Poppy?” Red concluded.

“Of course! This’ll be a great opportunity to improve our costumes. This is going to be the biggest show on Bridleway.”

Coco looked to Franz, her eyes passing over his heavily bandaged arm. She saw it polite to not comment but Franz knew she wanted to ask why. He hadn’t even told Poppy yet. He was secretly hoping that he’d be able to resolve the problem before there was a need. He didn’t want to burden her with his problems.

“My costume needs repairing, badly.”

“Sure Franz, if Coco here would be so kind – I think it’ll be a good idea to show her the storeroom.”

The gang moved behind the curtains and to the cursed room where Franz had gotten the bite in the first place. The door was easily booted open with a bit of pressure, since the lock was so old that using the key was an unreliable effort. The leaky, creaky, dank storeroom that housed every costume used in the show was revealed to an incredibly unimpressed Coco.

“No wonder they’re so beat up! I can see the water damage from here.” Coco trotted into the room with a commanding presence that had been missing just a few seconds earlier. “This room is not up to standard Mr Rope. Any fabric stored in here will simply wither away.”

Franz rolled his eyes, he’d had this particular conversation with Red Rope a thousand times already, and the answer was always, always the same…

“But the money just isn’t there!”

Franz had to stop himself from mockingly following along. Red Rope was a special kind of cheapskate. Even when the show was a huge success, he’d spend a lot of the takings on advertising campaigns and celebrity endorsements. Anything that would actually improve the theatre had to be front facing. New seats, repainting the walls, redoing the reception area.

Those were all important. But the fact of the matter was that there were several other places that desperately needed a facelift of their own. Rope’s opposition to giving them some love and attention came off as more of an ideological trick than an economic one. There wouldn’t be much of a show in the future if Franz’s pants fell down halfway through the final act. Comedy wasn’t his forte.

“I keep telling you Red, it’d be safer to keep our costumes at home than in here. I spend thirty minutes before every show drying them out,” he griped. “If we took the racks out of here – they would last much longer. The roof needs patching, the door is broken, and the window may as well not be there at all.”

And changelings could sneak in and bite you.

“Fine, we’ll move them. I’m sorry you had to see this Coco.”

Franz’s tolerance for schmoozing was hitting it’s upper limit. Even when the mare was offering free labour, he couldn’t help but suck up to her. Franz decided to make his own case, “I think you would be a big help Coco; I hope you’ll consider joining us.”

She nodded, “You have an interesting accent, where are you from?”

“Germany.”

“Germaneigh?”

Franz sighed, “Basically.”

“I didn’t know they had…”

“Humans.”

“…Humans in Germaneigh.”

“They don’t. I’m one of a kind.”

Coco frowned, “That sounds so sad.”

“Not as sad as this damned storeroom. For the sake of all that is holy, fix it up.”

“I get it Franz! We’ll try and get somepony in to fix the roof.” Franz walked past the boss and wheeled one of the racks out into the backstage area. It’d be a tight fit with everyone running around before the show, but it was preferable to letting the costumes suffer any more damage.

“Can we count on your help Coco?”

Coco nodded again, “Of course! It’ll be an interesting change from normal fashion.”

“Fantastic! I look forward to working with you!”

Poppy did a little jig to celebrate. Franz could only imagine how much of a nightmare he’d make things with a big new name on the team. “This is amazing! It’s been ages since we’ve had a proper costume designer.” If Poppy was happy, Franz was happy. So he kept his pessimistic comments to himself.

Franz had more problems than just keeping up with his work at the theatre. The Queen has offered information in exchange for finding the drone who’d bit him. They both had a gun to the other’s head. If the Queen flaked on her part of the agreement he could go running to the guards, but if he couldn’t find him – he’d never find out how to cure himself.

And from the reactions that he’d seen to the rogue changeling from the general population, he could see it being just a little bit worse than the pandemonium that had descended when he’d arrived in Equestria.

The blood test had confirmed his worst suspicions. He’d been contaminated with changeling… gunk. The blood tester couldn’t quite specify what it was, but it was self-replicating. He told the whole tale to the doctor, who could offer him nothing but condolences and more herbal treatments. Franz had thrown them into the garbage as soon as he left, this was his problem to fix now.

But where could he even start? Manehattan was the biggest city in Equestria – the crossroads to the rest of the world beyond. A trading and industry powerhouse, where tens of thousands of ponies and other species lived together. This city was no joke, it was nowhere near as big as Manhattan on Earth, but it was still too much for one man to navigate on his own.

It was a literal hunt for a needle in a haystack.

The changeling had been getting around. The press had been gripped with changeling fever, wild speculations of the incoming invasion were mixed in between wild scare stories, and the occasional sighting of the chitin covered nuisance that he was looking for. Franz had ripped out those articles and pinned them onto the wall of his apartment like a lunatic.

He felt like a lunatic. Half covered in bandages and wandering around in a daze, he was surprised that nobody asked him if he was drunk. Franz was not having any luck. But it seemed that trouble had found him first. A suited pony with a rough look about him stood in front of him.

“Hey, are you the freak show that’s buddies with the tourist?” he spoke in a strange accent.

“The tourist?”

“Flowery shirt, stupid hat.”

“I know him, I wouldn’t call him a friend. Why?”

Before he could receive an answer, he felt a pair of hooves push against his back. He could feel the air pressure changing behind him and the flapping of wings, a Pegasus? “Come with us.” He wasn’t asking for permission, so Franz held up his hands and followed them down several alleyways. They eventually came upon a blue metal door, illuminated by a single lamp. The mobster knocked on the door three times.

It swung open revealing a staircase that led down, further, and further. Franz was surprised to find that it was a bar, with a wooden front, tables, chairs, and even a pool table. There was a smoky atmosphere in the air, but the warm light of the lamps inside made it feel a little bit more welcoming than a cell. “Over here.”

Franz was led to a pair of brown couches and forcefully sat down, “No need to push.”

The Pegasus sneered and backed away, hopping over the bar, and pulling out a shot glass. The suit sat down on the opposite couch and looked to the clock on the wall. A second later another set of hooves descended the stairs and entered the bar. The stallion was old and spindly, with a long muzzle and light brown fur. He wore an expensive black suit and a long white scarf.

“Boss, we got the guy.”

The stallion said nothing. He hung up his scarf on a nearby coat rack and trotted over, sitting next to him. He grumbled with a deep baritone, scanning the human who sat in front of him.

Franz said nothing – knowing that these kinds of people did things on their own time. “I don’t want to keep you here for long. I was hoping to extract some information from you.” Straight to the point, now that was a surprise. “Are you familiar with the stallion in the hat?”

Franz considered nodding along, but thought better of it, “Depends. What do you want with him?”

His eyes narrowed, “Do you know where I live? I have a nice house on the edge of the city, with a big garden. I bought it because my daughter has something of a green hoof – and enjoys the art.”

“What does this have to do with the tourist?”

“My dearest little girl was going about her normal business, when that idiot burst from the bushes, and enjoyed testing his teeth on her! I saw the whole thing myself.”

“He emerged from the bushes and attacked her?”

The boss sighed, “He clearly does not know the rules. You cross my family, and you don’t live to see tomorrow.”

Franz’s mind was cast back to what Shady Palm had told him; the pony mafia were after him. The gangster was looking for him, but instead he found the changeling. “I don’t think he was the one who did it.”

“What do you mean?” His tone implied that he was losing patience.

Franz pulled back his sleeve and revealed his bandaged arm. “A tourist didn’t do this. I talked with him; he couldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.”

“The answer is much simpler. It was a changeling.”

“Changeling? The one that has the press spun into a fury?”

“I had the luck of running into him myself. I do not wear these bandages as an expression of my passion for fashion.”

He closed his eyes and folded his arms, “A changeling? I suppose that would explain how deep the injury was. No pony teeth that I’ve ever seen could leave a cut like that…”

“As it happens, I’m looking for him myself. It’s the only way I’ll figure out what’s wrong with my arm. Has your daughter been suffering from an infection?”

The mafia boss frowned, “Thankfully not. She was merely struck with a fever for a brief spell.”

“This is a lot more than just a fever. I need to find him, and fast. If I could find Shady again, I could ask him if he bumped into the changeling. It might explain why he took on his appearance.”

“Hm.”

“I need him alive.”

“I can’t accept that.”

“I can do you one better. As soon as I get what I want, he’ll be as good as dead with what I know.”

“And what do you know, exactly?”

“Something that they don’t want me to know. Something that kept me alive when I wandered into enemy territory. They can’t kill me, and I can’t let you kill him.”

“That is a matter of who finds him first.”

Franz wanted out of this room as soon as possible. He couldn’t reveal any more to this man. He was getting tangled with a suspicious character. “At least stop chasing Shady Palm, the tourist, I’m worried that he is hiding in a dumpster somewhere.”

“If I can confirm this changeling theory of yours, I will call off my boys.” He smirked, “If you can come here with proof, I will do the same. My name is Don Donovan.”

What that his name, or his rank? The mysteries of pony names were always eluding Franz.

“Okay Don. I will see what I can do.”

“I like a reasonable stallion; you have your head screwed on straight. Heck, if you find that piece of garbage for me – I’ll pay you.”

“I’ll worry about my arm first.” Franz stood from the chair and seeing that none of them moved to stop him, headed back to the stairway.

“Have a good one!” Don cackled.

Franz was not having a good one.