Nictus' boss was the perfect pony. She was efficient, beautiful, and whose affection was the most delicious thing in the world. Despite the formal integration of changelings into Equestria, the two races largely kept to themselves as much as they could—a hostile invasion in living memory will do that—and Nictus was overwhelmingly aware of how fortunate he was.

It was because of her that Nictus stood in the queue, anxious, waiting as the guard confirmed his ponymark registration. His insides smouldered as he held the Form, counting the minutes before hunger took him and the disguise failed. It wasn't his legal ponyform—if something went wrong, there could be no trace to him... or to her. Everything was to have been arranged. His boss was perfect; she wouldn't leave him to fail. She wouldn't. Nictus winced as the guard pulled his wing to extension, scrutinizing the primaries.

Nictus was not proud of his work. Ponies were a decent lot, and—despite what many of them might say—changelings were not given to larceny. Deception came with the territory, but it took a Bad Queen before they as a race had done anything truly despicable. Nictus' job had started with the small things; things nopony would care about going missing. Two years down the line and taking a gem straight from the Canterlot Exhibition, however... Nictus was not proud, but he did it for the perfect payout from the perfect pony.

Her affection was doled out in the most precious of morsels, succulent and divine. So frustratingly spare, they were often barely enough to get by. Quality over quantity, he had decided. She did care for him, Nictus new it. She had said it was so, but Nictus could see it for himself—feel it for himself—after each job well-done. Beneath that wall of intensity lay a heart beating with the most intoxicating love and affection he had ever known. He would to anything for a taste.

The guard moved from his wings to his molars, asking Nictus to open wide. Nictus swatted away the urge to run—to glance furtively for exits, to change, to disappear, anything—and did as he was told.

Nictus told himself that his mare had sent him; that everything would be fine. It was not uncommon for a guard to be exacting, even if this particular inspection was more... thorough than most. Just a zealous—no, dutiful guard. Nictus would have been better assuaged by his own assertion if he weren't to the point of starving that he couldn't assume another Form if his life depended on it.

This was going to be the last heist. Finally, she had said, no more of this running-around business. Finally, she would give him all her love and they would be together; no more holding back. Finally, she had said, his loyalty would be properly rewarded. Just one final task.

It was a mistake, then, when the irons clapped around his legs.