Belleza, his sister, was the only thing on Orgullo's mind. Not the status of his weapons, (he could have no ammunition and a broken barrel for all he cared) enemy position, or his own safety. Two years older than her, he made it his mission to protect her. Then, the changelings moved ever closer to Canterlot, taking city after city like it was their job to. Now, it must have been. He was nearly a kilometer away from his fire team mates, and a few blocks away from the nearest military anything- a destroyed and spray-painted tank. Carrying along he tried to picture where his sister could have been as he wandered. Military did their best to clean the streets where heavy fighting was, but blood still slicked the ground, changeling blood luminescent on the ground. Flashfire had asked him to either bring back a changeling alive, or kill one and vial its blood.
But Orgullo didn't want to shoot anything, let alone kill. He tried to remind himself changelings were monsters, not ponies. But...they were still living, weren't they? He'd killed a lot of coyote in the Badlands growing up, but usually in self-defense. However, the coats of coyotes could be fashioned into trophies at a high price. Ponies would buy the coats for a decent amount of bits, but they could be sold as some sort of coat or wallmount for a lot more.
There was too much thinking required in being a soldier..he pretended he was not one. Decisions that could affect lives were too much for him.
If he chose to kill, which could be better from a distance, he would use his battle rifle. It used full-cartridges, and was semi-automatic. It was able to get off successive shots on the target, when wielded by somepony who could withstand the recoil. It had been able to stagger or knock down a changeling at range, and penetrate directly in and out of their exoskeleton at a closer distance. He didn't know its damage on a pony, and he didn't really want to find out.
Movement, just ahead. He froze for a little, and was able to confirm some wavering, and even a glimpse of color in the barely working street. Hot pink flank, and at that big it had to be a mare. He fast stepped to her side, but in the dark of the streetlights. She noticed him, but just barely, and Orgullo saw that she limped slightly. She let out a small grunt every few steps.
"Miss," he said, trying to stand in front of her, but she just went around him, hissing as she passed him, continuing to walk.
Hissing..that was a first, he'd never heard a mare hiss, but he'd definitely heard it from-
No, was he really this close to a-
Changeling!
Without thinking, he turned around and went for a tackle, but the mare must have saw it coming, simply sidestepping him. He tripped and fell on the ground, his rifle coming loose and sliding across the floor. He turned onto his back and looked up. The changeling by now was upon him. He yelled, but in the middle of it the changeling spat, uncloaking into its terrible form. The gooey, luminescent stuff hit him in the face. He swung his hoof blindly, hitting target and hearing a screech. The changeling's hot breath along with more spit hit him.
Oh, why, this thing was going to kill him right here! Possibly shoot him with his own weapon!
Orgullo didn't know what to do. He'd taken down an elephant before but was never as scared as he was then. Swinging wildly and putting most of his weight into it, he punched the changeling hard enough to get on top, trying his best to escape, pushing himself upward. He was able to turn around and start to run, but felt a sharp slash across his back legs, and fell flat, just inches from his rifle. Turning around to fire back he saw nothing. The changeling was gone.
What the hell had just happened? He had this giant gash somewhere on the back of him- the pain was currently too wide-spread to see where it was- and the changeling was gone. He shakily got up and began to limp away. It was like he could feel the blood leaving him. With each step he became weaker, as he shambled into an alley and looked over himself, setting his rifle down.
In his backpack he had nothing to fix what he had. A cut on his right back leg, changeling blood and spit around it, while his own blood oozed out. The most he could do there was wipe it off, maybe use his rag to try and clean the would and put pressure on it. Starting on it, the color rushed back to his face and he felt a lot better. He could die untreated...he needed Flashfire to fix him up, but where was she? How far would it be until he collapsed, bled out and died there on the street?
Where did that changeling just go?
He relaxed, the pain becoming less constant as his body took over with the healing process. Within minutes he was no longer bleeding, only if he squeezed the wound, which pained him so much to do he moaned out from it.
He was almost asleep when he heard a screech, and was blindsided.
He screamed, and was pushed into the asphalt, his wound threatening to rip open. Orgullo turned on his back, glowing green eyes meeting him in the night. Kicking hard it was sent sailing off of him, and he got up, crawling toward his rifle. Feeling himself rack a round into the chamber.
Taking aim, the stock pressing against his shoulder.
Flashfire's voice was the only thing that stopped him from blowing a hole in its body.
"I would really like if you managed to get me one that's still alive."
Right...
The rifle turned sideways, and the stock slammed into the changeling's face. It stopped moving, as green blood leaked on both the weapon and the ground. Orgullo got out a length of rope and tied it to himself and the changeling, stretching his wings and beginning the long flight back.
All this trouble for a mare he didn't even care about.