Author Topic: Starcraft / Transformers: Lol I'm Actually Doing This  (Read 1118 times)

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Offline RobotNixon

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Starcraft / Transformers: Lol I'm Actually Doing This
« on: July 15, 2012, 06:06:31 AM »
It had been a long night. And all the coffee in the world would not sustain Enrique.
“You humans did not know about me, or any others of my kind. There was a time where we were open about our existence among you, but the peace didn't last longer than a century. You eventually used your superior numbers to enslave us. Rather than succumb we went into hiding.” The large female mechanoid calmly reiterated for the Confederate scientist, struggling against her restraints more out of boredom than out of a desire to be free. Her somewhat blocky form was still overtly feminine, and many of the guards had to be regularly exchanged to prevent them from building up a friendly report with this, “Bronco”.
Dr. Ximena did his best to seem alert as he stifled back a yawn, but they had been at this for almost twenty four hours. Obviously this creature did not need sleep, thus sleep deprivation was a useless interrogation tactic. “Fine, fine. Tell me again about how you came to be here on Chau Sara.” He allowed himself a glance at his watch as he jotted a few more notes into his datapad. 'Twenty seven hours? Goddamn.'
With a disinterested glance at the wall, her cobalt lips formed into a somewhat devious grin and she began again. “Like I said, humans didn't know about our existence. At least they hadn't in a long time.
But ATLAS did. He was the AI on the colony ship that crashed on Tarsonis? He watched us as we masqueraded as security vehicles, combat mechs, lift trucks, but he said nothing to the organics. Perhaps he felt that it was his trump card to play if the humans felt they didn't need him, an entire army of robots in disguise, ready to act to insure their survival.” The fembot was more than confident that she would outlast this man. Already she could sense that the gap between her responses and his next question were growing at an alarming rate. “Good thing the Lieutenant isn't around Enrique. He'd have sent you to the brig for falling asleep on the job.”
Dr. Enrique Ximena took this moment to stand up from his desk and walk to the foot of the shapely robot. With out a moment's hesitation he pulled his leg back and delivered a kick into Bronco's ankle.
'Maybe physical torture will have a better result.' He mumbled to himself, repeating the action. The attacks were more to keep himself awake than to elicit any reaction, and he grinned at his punchy desperation. “My job and my freedom are plenty secure Bronco. The faster you spill your data drives the faster you'll find yourself a place in the Confederate Military.”
The twenty five foot tall robot gauged the Dr.'s intentions as he whittled away at the weather coating on her arrow shaped foot actuator with his increasingly sluggish attacks. She settled on boredom. 'Kindred spirits.' She thought in a humorous manner. “Fine. I'll tell you. Tomorrow. You're practically falling asleep on my boot... You are asleep on my boot.” She wiggled her leg, giggling as the somewhat graying Hispanic gentleman rolled over and onto the floor, easily within crushing distance. “Good thing I'm not as xenophobic as I used to be, Doctor.”
The night passed slowly, with the armed guards that changed shifts every few hours not even bothering to wake Dr. Ximena up to help him into his chair. Bronco busied herself by pushing the prostrate body around on linoleum floor with gentle nudges courtesy of her left foot. “You guys aren't going to help him?” She called to the armored marines at the door.
“Above our paygrade ma'am. Besides, I'm resoced. I couldn't break protocol if I wanted to.” He gave her a sharp salute, then turned back to the flatscreen panel on the wall nearest the door. “Oh man, did you see that tackle? Bet Monroe got at least three ribs cracked on that one. Throw me another beer Billy." The marine had no compunctions against drinking on the job it seemed. Perhaps there were no regulations against that.
The next morning found Enrique in a compromising situation. He jumped to his feet and hit his head on something. Something rubberized and extremely heavy. Like a giant... “BOOT!” With a sense of extreme urgency he threw himself out from under the massive robot and scrambled to the relative safety of his desk. Except it wasn't his desk. It was a boulder. A very red boulder, with patches of purple lichen on the pockmarked face. As he turned to face what he had been sleeping under he was pleasantly surprised to see a Confederate Goliath, overturned and inoperative. But his relief was soon washed away as he became aware that around him the earth was drenched with the blood and screams of the dying. About 30 yards away a half obscured marine rocked back and forth in a monotonous fashion, nursing what looked like a shallow gash across much of his face. His armor was one of the newer models. This was a good thing in the doctor's eyes. 'Emergency medical pressure seals. If I can get him back on his feet I may have a shot at survival.'
“HEY! You hit bad marine?!” Enrique shouted over the field of corpses. He quickened his pace as he rounded a small trench wall, jumping over the stiffs a few unarmored technicians, doubtless the crew that had been trying to get the Goliath back on it's feet. There were so many bodies. The doctor had started unconsciously counting them as he made his way towards the marine. Twenty four. Twenty seven. Thirty two. They all had deep lacerations and bite marks, as if a horde of wild animals had overwhelmed them. But animals don't overwhelm power armored marines and infantry fighting vehicles. No, this was the work of something much more sinister. “Hey! I'm talking to you! Can you walk? We need to get out of here!”
“I can walk. Calm your tits. Just having a smoke.” The marine pulled himself up to an impressive eight feet. Definitely the new model. For a moment he admired the mostly flawless paint job on the suit, a simple red and black pattern favored by Alpha Squadron veterans. “It's me doc. Sgt. Robertson.” He took the spent cigarette from his mouth and threw it onto a mangled corpse, the sight of which made Enrique's skin crawl.
“What the gently-carress is that thing Sergeant?!” It was four legged, approximately six feet long, with a vaguely reptilian form and scythes for front paws. The face was by far the most disturbing feature, two sunken black pits for eyes that seemed to exude a calamitous yellow glow that grew more intense the longer you looked at them, like staring into a pair of suns. He followed the ridge of it's nasal cavity to it's jawline, where he was greeted by the sight of a split lower jaw that formed two prehensile mandibles. This was doubtlessly one of the murderous creatures that had hit the base. “I have no doubt Bronco escaped. Am I right Robertson?”
Both men froze as the creature's body twitched, promptly followed by Sgt. Robertson regaining his composure and unloading half a clip of his chrome plated upsized pistol into the thrashing alien corpse.

It's unholy screams were quickly silenced, but the crimson ichor contained within it pumped into the air for a good minute afterwards. “Yeah. Unless she's still around her somewhere. Bet the big metal bitch got a sick laugh out of this.” He turned towards the sunrise with a slight grunt. “Beautiful. What a excrementty day for such a sun.” He waved the doctor away as Enrique approached with a sheet of nanogauze freshly pilfered from a dead trauma nurse. "I'm fine doc."
Suddenly a thunderous cacophony of metal sounded from the direction the doctor had originated from, and both men knew exactly what it meant.
“Looking for me boys?” A feminine voice called out.