>Prisoners were rare.
>Changelings seemed to have an undying devotion to their queen.
>However, everyone in a while a wounded one would be captured.
>That’s what happened not thirty minutes ago.
>A small skirmish between a couple scouts and an overly aggressive patrol.
>Apparently a round passed close enough to this one’s head to knock it down.
>The rest is history; the drone is dragged into your tent by a couple of dusty scouts.
>They toss him forward to you.
>You crouch down and look it in the compound eye.
“Howdy comrade!”
>You motion behind you.
“I’m something of a craftsmen you see, these are my tools.”
>You have on a bandanna a ball peen hammer, your 1911, a pack of cigarettes, pair of pliers.
“Oh, missing one!”
>You pull out your knife and lay it next to them.
“So, I’m certain you know that the endgame is coming up, you know, a final battle.”
>You stop to take a cigarette out of the pack and light it, taking a drag before continuing.
“Surely you must have some defensive plans?”
>The changeling drone avoids your gaze; you grab it by the chin, forcing it to show its face.
“Do you hear me?”
>The drone flinches but otherwise doesn’t move.
“Right then.”
 
>You put your cigarette out in its eye, it tries to close it, but only succeeds in holding the
>burning ash in place.
“I hate wasting cigarettes. So still silent eh?”
>You draw the pliers, but not before lighting yourself another cigarette.
>You motion for the scouts to restrain the drone, they do.
>You tap the drone on the cheek.
“Looks like you got a loose bit of chitin, lemme help you.”
>You grab it with the pliers and begin to pull, slowly.
>The changeling lets out a whine. Then you rip it completely off.
>The whine turns to a gasp, once it opens its mouth you grab a fang with the pliers.
“You know you can end this.”
>You pull the fang out.
>The drone lets out a screech.
“Love for the queen is strong then, eh?”
>You draw the 1911 and put a round through its right knee.
>The screech goes up several decibels.
“You’ll life if we treat it. Would you like that?”
>The changeling looks down.
“That’s a yes then?”
>You take out your lighter and hold it under the open wound.
>The drone bucks and screeches, but the scouts hold it steady enough.
>This goes on for almost a minute, just until the wound is cauterized.
“Still nothing eh? That’s fine, this is a genocide campaign, no precision is needed. Just
Brutality, nice, unrelenting brutality.”
>You motion to the scouts to let go, they do.
>The drone collapses, you waste no time and pin it under your boot.
“Nice wings, do they grow back?”
>You grab the wing and begin to pull.
>The screeching starts again, you can feel the drones body giving way.
>You can feel every chord of muscle and tendon slowly snap apart.
>It finally gives with a ‘pop’.
>The screeching turns to whining again.
>You grab the ball peen hammer, kick the drone over, and proceed to methodically
>Break each leg with the tiny hammer.
>You stand and wipe you upper lip off.
“You two, take him back to changeling territory, make sure he gets picked up.”
>Good ol’ terror tactics.