They're EVERYWHERE!

156, 357: 1

In the middle of a nondescript forest, two changelings are staring at each other. Overall, they are both of the standard changeling mold - no tail, no mane, teal eyes, black carapace with slight dark green undertone. Neither of them even have a secondary belly plating. The smooth carapace and general figure of one, however, hints to it being a female infiltrator, currently blinking in shock with her jaw dropped.

"What?"

The other changeling's carapace is more jagged and bulkier which, in addition to its deeper voice, reveal that it's in fact a he and likely a warrior.

"What about which part? I mean, it's difficult to misunderstand the phrase "we're screwed, oh holes we're so screwed, holes help us we're so unbelievably screwed", or am I wrong?"

"I mean the part before that where you said 'she left'."

"She said that the splitting headache she's had for as long as she could recall was gone and that she was about to enjoy some peace and quiet. Now, before you ask, I have absolutely zero idea what she meant by that."

"Damn it!" the infiltrator stomps the forest floor in frustration which only deepens as the soft ground gives in.

"Sooo, we synced on that "we're screwed and not in the good old feeding way" part?" the warrior completely ignores her outburst, earning him a withering glare from the infiltrator.

"Alright, I came as quickly as I could when I heard the hive call. Who's in charge here then?"

"I suppose it's me, 387 here by the way, but in charge of what exactly? Hive knowledge has collapsed after the queen left, most of the drones here are trying to hug grass because they think it's waving at them, 36658 there just successfully figured that bark isn't edible after stripping whatever that tree is down to a toothpick, and 47989 jumping up and down on his stomach thinks it's helping him purge."

Crack.

"Aaaand great! 47989 slipped, hit its head on a rock, and is now twitching on the ground in a rapidly expanding pool of goo," 387 rolls his eyes, "I'll go snap its neck so that it doesn't suffer."

The infiltrator sighs.

"You know what? No!"

"You monster!" gasps 387, "Though I can't deny that it's funny... in a morbid way. We're betting on how long it's gonna keep twitching then or-"

"That's not what I meant!" she facehoofs, "What I meant was that we've been dealing with this... nonsense for as long as all of us can remember and every time the solution was to "get rid of the weak links". Look where it got us? Get someone to bandage 47989's head and see if not bleeding out can help its situation."

"That's dumb."

"Rank 156 here. Dumb or not, you're doing it."

"Alright," 387 shrugs, "Now for the million-bit question - how does one make bandages?"

"Are you stu-" 156 scans her fragmented remains of the hive mind knowledge and blinks, "Oh dear..."

"Thought so," 387 nods, "Back to the neck snapping it is then."

"Can you warriors not think of bodily harm for one second? You know, try being constructive, maybe? Ponies can... build... forge... make bandages, who says we can't?"

"Literally the two of us a few seconds ago."

"Just do it!"

"Still only a changeling warrior, not a changeling genie. Wishing on me won't do squat. You, on the other hole, just sounded waaaay too much like Ch-"