A frog sat on a lily pad, simply minding his own business. Much to his satisfaction, he decided to sunbathe in the warmth of the day, picking off any flies that went by. It was a lazy day, as he told himself, so nothing needed to be done. His tongue lashed out as he spotted a morsel, but he was too slow. Such was the life of a frog.

The existence of a frog wasn't exactly a fun one. Ever since the day of his birth, the frog had to fight for his own survival. For a life so young, he had seen his fair share of horrors. His tadpole brothers and sisters had been eaten alive, his own parents had abandoned him — it was astute to say that he hadn't exactly had the best of times. He did grow, though, surviving his childhood to live the repetitive, monotonous life of a frog. It was peaceful, yes, but the frog dreamed of a bigger life, of a life filled with adventure, drama and experience.

Sadly, though, he was only a frog. He released a deep sigh as he took the life of an innocent insect. Life was hard, and he certainly wasn't going to make it any easier. Why should he? He was an animal in an animal-eat-animal world, and he didn't particularly feel like being eaten. He was a frog in a pony's world, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Suddenly, though, he wasn't just a frog.

He was an orange.

The frog-orange hybrid looked upon himself with wonder. He still had his frog limbs, with his outrageously-sized legs, but most of his body was now an orange, which, he had to admit, wasn't there earlier that morning. When he croaked in surprise, he found that his mouth was now simply a slit in his fruity body. For some reason, he felt the urge to speak, to finally release his thoughts upon the cruel world.

“World,” he said uneasily, “thy name is Frogger.” With a small jump, Frogger jumped into the pond below him, abandoning the lily pad. He had a way out now — a way in which he could act out his revenge on the world that treated him with such cruelty.

The water was warm, but it mattered not to Frogger. His scheming and thoughts had taken over any previous sentiment of relaxation. Frogger popped his head above the water, seeing a purple pony and a rather small dragon. Oh, how he hated ponies. They were always so unnervingly content, yet all Frogger could do was live to fight another day. He would sometimes watch them from his pond, observing their carefree lifestyles, their blindness to the cruelty of the world, but, most of all, their joy.

And, oh, how he hated seeing their joy.

As he was now a hybrid of both an amphibian and a fruit, Frogger guessed he could now hop on ground. It wasn't as if he hadn't done so before he turned into an orange, mind, but it was usually fairly dangerous to leave his own pond. Then again, this wasn't exactly a usual moment. He gave one last thought of the world he was about to leave, and then left.

With the soft squelching of his webbed feet, Frogger clambered out of the safety of his home. He moved closer to the purple pair, using the shadow of a nearby tree for cover. The frog-orange hybrid waited for the perfect moment before presenting himself. He leapt from the darkness, giving a loud, prolonged ribbit to catch the attention of his subjects.

“It is I, your ruler, Frogger! Bow before your almighty—”

The order was interrupted by the laughter of the dragon, who was obviously taking great pleasure in meeting his new leader. He cackled and snickered until his cheeks grew flustered, finally turning around to face the Almighty Orange. “Look, Twilight — your orange can talk! Aw, how cute! How 'bout we call it—”

A jet of citric acid to the eyes quickly silenced the insolent creature. As he ran around in circles, screaming in both pain and anguish, Frogger could've sworn he felt a smile form on his... mouth... thing. It was easy enough to attack, as he discovered — with a quick close of his mouth, he could send a precise stream of venom to his enemies. Of course, he would need practice, but it wasn't a bad shot for his first attempt.

He threw back his orange neck, letting out a maniacal laugh somewhere between the noise of a frog croak and an orange. Considering that oranges do not actually produce a noise, the laugh simply sounded like a frog.

“How dare you?” The unicorn questioned, backing away from the hybrid. “And how can you speak?”

“Foolish mortal,” Frogger said, “you cannot even begin to understand me. I... simply came into being.”

By now, the dragon had stopped moaning about his pain. With sore, reddened eyes, he had returned to Frogger, his tail tucked between his legs. “I, for one, accept our new orange overlord,” he said. “What did you say your name was, oh, great and powerful orange?"

“My name is Frogger, pitiful creature, and don't you forget it! Although, 'orange overlord' does have a certain charm to it...” The frog slapped a slimy leg to his face, taking great care in showing his disgust. “I don't know why I shouldn't just rid this place of your pathetic presence...”

“Oh, yeah? Well, how about this?” The unicorn suddenly advanced on the frog-orange, taking him by surprise. She stood directly above him, her hoof hovering only inches away from his head. “Now, tell us, Frogger, or whatever you call yourself, what exactly do you want?”

“The same as any other sane being,” the frog responded coolly. “Control.”

“What? You, a frog... orange... thing, want control? What could you possibly gain from that?”

Frogger decided to simply plaster a smile across his face. He didn't need to answer to such a simpleton, and nor did he intend to. “Tell me, what is your name?”

“Why would I tell you?”

“Is it not customary to do so?”

The pony narrowed her eyes at him. “As a matter of fact, it is," she admitted, moving her hoof away from his head. "Then again, it's not very customary to be a frog-orange thing. Now, if you don't mind, I'm just going to fix that.” Now pointing her horn directly at him, the pony summoned some form of purple magic. The dragon next to her suddenly blinked, his eyes darting from Frogger to his friend nervously. He obviously knew of the pain Frogger could inflict.

“You'd be wise not to threaten your future ruler, pony... I am not a very forgiving orange.” Frogger had to state, he didn't think he'd be saying that any time soon. He also didn't think he'd be talking at all any time soon, for that matter, nor that he would be suddenly, and rather precariously, lifted into the air by some kind of winged creature.

This, as it seemed, was a day of firsts.

“Hey, come back here!” The pony yelled after Frogger, shaking her hoof. “I wasn't done fixing you, yet!”

“You'll rue the day you ever crossed me, pony!” He doubted the unicorn would've heard him, but it mattered not — there were more important things going on. Deciding physical abuse was definitely not the right direction from this height, Frogger looked up at the feathered thing. “You, up there! Release me this instant!”

The bird obviously heard him, because they were descending at quite a rapid rate. It took Frogger low to the ground before arching back up into the treeline. They came to a sudden stop, and Frogger was dropped lightly onto the stump of a fallen tree. An odd place, he decided, but sufficient enough for an arena. This bird was obviously looking for a fight — why else would it pick up an frog-orange hybrid. Well, he wasn't going down without a fight. No way.

“Where are you, confounded bird? Duel me, I say. Duel me!” Frogger yelled at the top of his voice. His enemy had disappeared, perhaps to regroup and coordinate its attack. The hybrid raised its webbed feet in defence, waiting for the attack.

There was a loud cawing above him, and all he could see was a blur of movement. It vanished for a couple of seconds before suddenly reappearing in front of him. Frogger yelped, falling back in surprise. When he finally recovered, he leaned up to see his enemy glaring back at him with evil, orange eyes.

A bird-orange hybrid.

Oh, how perfect.

“Ah, a comrade!” Frogger cheered, leaping up in joy. He looked the thing up and down as it tilted its head to the side. Unlike Frogger, most of its body was an orange; it still had the wings and tail feathers of a bird, but it was more of an orange than Frogger was. It was an odd comparison, but correct, nonetheless. “You have a name, friend?”

“Caw.”

“Is... is that your name?”

“Caw,” the thing confirmed.

“Well, it's just a strange one, is all.”

“Caw.”

Frogger blinked. “Anyway, my name is Frogger, and it is a pleasure meeting you.”

“Caw.”

“Not a very talkative one, are you?” The frog-orange asked, scratching his orange chin.

“Caw,” the bird-orange stated.

“Oh... okay, then,” Frogger said. Even if his comrade wasn't very chatty, it was still a comrade. It looked at him curiously with another tilt of its head, its wings perched tightly at its sides. Despite its nonchalant look, Frogger knew he could depend on it. With such a useful ability of flying, it would certainly be an asset to the team.

“Well, comrade, there is much planning to be done. I assume I'm not alone on my path of world domination?”

“Caw.”

“Good, then let the scheming begin," said Frogger. "I need my space to think, comrade. Please find something to amuse yourself in the meantime.”

Somehow, the bird-orange understood him. It took to the air, diving to the ground below in a daring somersault. Whether it was going to come back was up to chance, but the most important thing to do now was planning.

And so, Frogger, the half orange, half frog, planned.