PR's Tumblrdome
No title available
ellievsbear
Cosimo Galluzzi
Sade Olutola
sheepfilms
bliss lane
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
RMH
art blog(derogatory)
Cosmic Funnies
The Bowery Presents
Doug Jones
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Phantogram Three
@theartofmadeline
Noah Kahan
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Color Me Curious
Discoholic 🪩
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Thailand
seen from Indonesia
seen from Venezuela
seen from Singapore
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Austria
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Vietnam
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Russia
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Indonesia
seen from Canada
@vegastig-the-scrapper
General Rules of the Game!
1. RP is for fun! Don’t make it not fun!
2. I will not be RP’ing NSFW events.
3. Don’t be weird with me. I am a person. If you want to rp you can message me or interact with me normally.
4. I primarily use mobile! Sometimes replies and asks get eaten, and this is a sideblog to my main @dyoxys-prime , so feel free to let me know you sent me a message if I haven’t seen it!
5. Rules are subject to be added to/changed!
It was late. Or was it early? He didn’t know. Something woke him up, though.
Vegastig nearly stretched out into root mode, but stopped last second.
‘That’s right, I’m incognito..’ he shook a bit instead, adjusting his sensors and EM field to ‘look’ around. Something woke him up.
It took him a few seconds to figure it out, but when he did, his internal screens lit up gleefully.
His new favorite flesh-creature was here again! With that silly data pad again but honestly Stig didn’t care.
What did he want? Probably more pictures and scans. Stig didn’t care, he didn’t much pay attention to what the fleshies talked about.
He shifted slowly, to not make any noise. If the green-armored fleshling would step an inch to the right, he could snag the flashlight on his helmet with one of the straps again… or if he moved a bit to the left, he’ll find that the floor plating there is tilted just a bit, perhaps enough to make him slip…
Vegastig had been living undercover with these flesh-ape-creatures for a while now. He liked their spirit! And they remind him of how things used to be, during the war, even if other Cybertronians would give him flack for getting attached to the short-lived creatures. He didn’t care. They were so silly and interesting! And his favorite one has come to visit him early early in the morning! He was pleased.
Vegastig, ex-Decepticon tracker and Scrapper, waited in anticipation to see which trap the man would find first.
@mxchineandnerve
"I'm-"
Before the legendary Spartan could answer the mechanoid, he felt his armor's energy shielding units momentarily falter as the alien's EM field spread like a shield over him. The sensation tingled like carbonated water on his lips, but body-wide. And just as quickly as the sensation had come, it had passed.
"As I was trying to say, I am Master Chief Petty Office Spartan John-117."
Maybe this alien would inquire about his lack of surname. Hopefully not, as that was a long and painful story John would rather not explain. He'd had a surname once, a time so long ago he couldn't even bother remembering it.
117 was all that was left, an honor he wore with pride, a scar he wore with hidden shame.
117 marked him as a Spartan, a legendary hero to the whole of the human race, but it also marked him as a freak, as an experiment, a weapon, a thing, not a person.
Lucky for John, this alien species doesn’t have surnames.
Vegastig scrunched his facial plating. “Ugh. That’s too long. Choose something shorter, I’m not saying all that. ‘Green man’ is shorter.”
He squinted at John as his EM field gave him total awareness of what’s around them. Full pressure would cause the man’s shielding to waver a bit unpleasantly, so he reigned it in. Not like anyone around here can speak through EM glyph anyways.
Spoken word was the best option as it is, and Stig decided to use it.
“I could give you a name, too. It could be cute, none of that ‘Master Petty John Chief officer 117’. My gosh, even Deathasaurus knew his name shouldn’t have more than 3 syllabus, and I don’t think he can read.”
Stig put a finger to his chin, smiling. “What if I called you ‘Sprout’. That’s better than all that.”
"My name is not Sprout." The chief protested.
Okay, so apparently Vegastig's species didn't understand titles. They also seemed to have an affinity for silly names, after all, who the hell would name themselves or their children "Deathasaurus'?!
"Master Chief Petty Officer is a title. Do you not have those?"
Truthfully , it didn't matter whether or not this bizarre alien knew of titles, as long as it wasn't going to call him 'Sprout'. "Call me Chief. Everyone does."
It was a show of respect, one his decades-long career of slaughtering Covenant monsters demanded of him. Only his friends called him by his actual name, and the ability to call him 'John' was privilege they had earned through years of trust. Even the title of 'Master Chief' seemed something solely reserved for him these days, as the UNSC's navy had taken on the rather amusing habit of referring to other master chiefs as 'top chiefs'. Rank didn't particularly matter to John, but Chief was a name he was accustomed to being called. Even Cortana seldom used his actual name.
“Chief, got it. Primus below, why was that so hard? Ridiculous.”
His EM field pinged only wildlife, so he was calmed for now, but he kept his awareness out for people.!
“There are those who have titles, kind of pertaining to their sector or rank. If you want my full title, it’s…..” Vegastig had to think, translating it in his head. “…..Science class exploration officer Vegastig, Energon studies. But please just call me Vegastig, the rest of it is redundant.”
Hasn’t really been useful since the war anyways. Not that anyone would call him all that then either. It was always ever ‘seeker’ or ‘you’ or ‘Decepticon’, the only one who ever called him ‘science officer’ was Shockwave, and even then, Vegastig hated HATED having Shockwaves attention on him at any point.
It was never for a good thing.
He shoved those memories back into their little box. Now was not the time.
“Well…It’s good to meet you, Chief.”
It was late. Or was it early? He didn’t know. Something woke him up, though.
Vegastig nearly stretched out into root mode, but stopped last second.
‘That’s right, I’m incognito..’ he shook a bit instead, adjusting his sensors and EM field to ‘look’ around. Something woke him up.
It took him a few seconds to figure it out, but when he did, his internal screens lit up gleefully.
His new favorite flesh-creature was here again! With that silly data pad again but honestly Stig didn’t care.
What did he want? Probably more pictures and scans. Stig didn’t care, he didn’t much pay attention to what the fleshies talked about.
He shifted slowly, to not make any noise. If the green-armored fleshling would step an inch to the right, he could snag the flashlight on his helmet with one of the straps again… or if he moved a bit to the left, he’ll find that the floor plating there is tilted just a bit, perhaps enough to make him slip…
Vegastig had been living undercover with these flesh-ape-creatures for a while now. He liked their spirit! And they remind him of how things used to be, during the war, even if other Cybertronians would give him flack for getting attached to the short-lived creatures. He didn’t care. They were so silly and interesting! And his favorite one has come to visit him early early in the morning! He was pleased.
Vegastig, ex-Decepticon tracker and Scrapper, waited in anticipation to see which trap the man would find first.
@mxchineandnerve
"I'm-"
Before the legendary Spartan could answer the mechanoid, he felt his armor's energy shielding units momentarily falter as the alien's EM field spread like a shield over him. The sensation tingled like carbonated water on his lips, but body-wide. And just as quickly as the sensation had come, it had passed.
"As I was trying to say, I am Master Chief Petty Office Spartan John-117."
Maybe this alien would inquire about his lack of surname. Hopefully not, as that was a long and painful story John would rather not explain. He'd had a surname once, a time so long ago he couldn't even bother remembering it.
117 was all that was left, an honor he wore with pride, a scar he wore with hidden shame.
117 marked him as a Spartan, a legendary hero to the whole of the human race, but it also marked him as a freak, as an experiment, a weapon, a thing, not a person.
Lucky for John, this alien species doesn’t have surnames.
Vegastig scrunched his facial plating. “Ugh. That’s too long. Choose something shorter, I’m not saying all that. ‘Green man’ is shorter.”
He squinted at John as his EM field gave him total awareness of what’s around them. Full pressure would cause the man’s shielding to waver a bit unpleasantly, so he reigned it in. Not like anyone around here can speak through EM glyph anyways.
Spoken word was the best option as it is, and Stig decided to use it.
“I could give you a name, too. It could be cute, none of that ‘Master Petty John Chief officer 117’. My gosh, even Deathasaurus knew his name shouldn’t have more than 3 syllabus, and I don’t think he can read.”
Stig put a finger to his chin, smiling. “What if I called you ‘Sprout’. That’s better than all that.”
It was late. Or was it early? He didn’t know. Something woke him up, though.
Vegastig nearly stretched out into root mode, but stopped last second.
‘That’s right, I’m incognito..’ he shook a bit instead, adjusting his sensors and EM field to ‘look’ around. Something woke him up.
It took him a few seconds to figure it out, but when he did, his internal screens lit up gleefully.
His new favorite flesh-creature was here again! With that silly data pad again but honestly Stig didn’t care.
What did he want? Probably more pictures and scans. Stig didn’t care, he didn’t much pay attention to what the fleshies talked about.
He shifted slowly, to not make any noise. If the green-armored fleshling would step an inch to the right, he could snag the flashlight on his helmet with one of the straps again… or if he moved a bit to the left, he’ll find that the floor plating there is tilted just a bit, perhaps enough to make him slip…
Vegastig had been living undercover with these flesh-ape-creatures for a while now. He liked their spirit! And they remind him of how things used to be, during the war, even if other Cybertronians would give him flack for getting attached to the short-lived creatures. He didn’t care. They were so silly and interesting! And his favorite one has come to visit him early early in the morning! He was pleased.
Vegastig, ex-Decepticon tracker and Scrapper, waited in anticipation to see which trap the man would find first.
@mxchineandnerve
The Spartan shifted awkwardly in his armor. He was still VERY leery of this creature, but it wouldn't have been the first time he'd encountered an inhuman stranger, nor would it be the last. His thoughts strayed to the Arbiter on Sangheilios, how his first instinct upon meeting the creature outside of the Gravemind's lair had been to ram a pistol between his mandibles. Had the creature before him been smaller, he'd have likely done the same. He felt like an ant underfoot, staring up at the thing-called-Vegastig. Ultimately he didn't have much choice in the matter of whether or not to let Vegastig do as he pleases. The thing looked like it was bristling with hidden weaponry the likes of whi9ch could rival even the most powerful of Covenant arms. "Lucky me..."
Vegastig nodded. “Yes yes, lucky you.”
He paused a moment, looking back towards the base area.
No unusual movement.
“So. What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Green Human forever.”
Another moment. Movement in the distance, but it looked like one of the world’s natural predators. Utterly not a danger to either of them, but he best make sure.
“Okay, I’m going to release my EM field now. Don’t freak out if it tingles your shields a bit, alright?”
He let his EM field loose, expanding it slowly over Chief so his shields wouldn’t register the sudden pressure as a hit, before pushing outwards. He’d forgotten how well he can see with it. The yawning emptiness around him didn’t startle him anymore, but it was still unpleasant.
It was late. Or was it early? He didn’t know. Something woke him up, though.
Vegastig nearly stretched out into root mode, but stopped last second.
‘That’s right, I’m incognito..’ he shook a bit instead, adjusting his sensors and EM field to ‘look’ around. Something woke him up.
It took him a few seconds to figure it out, but when he did, his internal screens lit up gleefully.
His new favorite flesh-creature was here again! With that silly data pad again but honestly Stig didn’t care.
What did he want? Probably more pictures and scans. Stig didn’t care, he didn’t much pay attention to what the fleshies talked about.
He shifted slowly, to not make any noise. If the green-armored fleshling would step an inch to the right, he could snag the flashlight on his helmet with one of the straps again… or if he moved a bit to the left, he’ll find that the floor plating there is tilted just a bit, perhaps enough to make him slip…
Vegastig had been living undercover with these flesh-ape-creatures for a while now. He liked their spirit! And they remind him of how things used to be, during the war, even if other Cybertronians would give him flack for getting attached to the short-lived creatures. He didn’t care. They were so silly and interesting! And his favorite one has come to visit him early early in the morning! He was pleased.
Vegastig, ex-Decepticon tracker and Scrapper, waited in anticipation to see which trap the man would find first.
@mxchineandnerve
"You idiot! I wasn't trying to stab you! I was trying to fix you!"
Just because this alien had decided to disguise himself as human military hardware clearly didn't mean that said alien knew how that hardware worked.
The laser cutter wasn't a weapon, but simply a tool for removing an already-affixed panel so that the Chief might have access to the Pelican's innards. He knew enough about Pelicans to conduct minor field repairs, but that was about it. He certainly wasn't expect that Pelican to be a walking talking sentient creature. What kind of a thing was Vegastig even; some kind of super-advanced A.I. in a shapeshifting metal frame? What kind of mechanisms did it take to get a piece of technology like that working. This thing was far more advanced than even the Covenant and their remnant-factions were capable of. John hadn't even seen something like this come from the tomb-planets of the long-dead Forerunners. Who or what built Vegastig and why?
Was like the Chief himself, a war-machine, a weapon built for subduing threats to another more advanced species? "You'd be surprised. I've seen things most of my species would go insane over encountering. I've seen things even you wouldn't believe are actually out there!"
“Oh really? I think you underestimate how many of your little fleshie life-cycles I’ve been around. I’ve seen a lot too, little green goblin. Perhaps even things you wouldn’t believe, either.”
He settled a bit, shifting in the sand to dig himself in a bit. He had no idea about Chief’s inner questioning.
He tilted his head at him, smiling with his glossa between his dente.
“Trying to fix me? Nothing was broken! Oh, you are adorable! I think I’ll keep you, you know. I think we can help each other.”
"Help each other how? I'm one Spartan, one that everyone seems to think has seen his better days, and you're a, well, you're an I-don't-know. You're some kind of alien artificial intelligence in a shapeshifting construct. You come walking out onto the tarmac looking like that, I guarantee you, the ONI spooks will dissect you for scrap. They're probably DYING for a weapon like you! Whatever you think you can do for me, besides make my already difficult life even more difficult, you probably are mistaken.
And whatever the hell I can do for you, I've got no idea!"
Vegastig sighed. “Pay attention! I already told you what I am, I am a Cybertronian. I am from the planet Cybertron! I am not so mundane as an AI.”
He picked up a bunch of sand and dropped it on the Master Chief. “You act like you’ve never made a deal with anyone! Breathe, drink something, get yourself together. You can help me and I can help you. But you need to chill out, you’re barely taking in any information.” He wagged his finger at him.
He waited a cycle, spinning his turbines a bit in the sand.
“I know that ONI is a danger to me. There are bigger things in the universe that are a danger to me, this ONI is just the closest. So! What I need is someone who will protect me from them, keep them off my trail, and what you need is someone who can protect you. I’ve been battling longer than you’ve been alive, and I’ll be able to pick you up a lot more reliably than any other pelican, you know.”
He watched Chief a bit. “And, I suppose, you can use someone with outside alien knowledge to help you out when humanity inevitably figures out that the Covenant isn’t the only alien group in the universe. Frag, dude, it isn’t even the biggest. But! Lucky you! You have me!” He did a cheerful little clap, his fingertips tapping together.
He’d been keeping his EM field SUPER close since this started, but he worried that the base might notice there was a pelican and a soldier missing. …..probably not.
It was late. Or was it early? He didn’t know. Something woke him up, though.
Vegastig nearly stretched out into root mode, but stopped last second.
‘That’s right, I’m incognito..’ he shook a bit instead, adjusting his sensors and EM field to ‘look’ around. Something woke him up.
It took him a few seconds to figure it out, but when he did, his internal screens lit up gleefully.
His new favorite flesh-creature was here again! With that silly data pad again but honestly Stig didn’t care.
What did he want? Probably more pictures and scans. Stig didn’t care, he didn’t much pay attention to what the fleshies talked about.
He shifted slowly, to not make any noise. If the green-armored fleshling would step an inch to the right, he could snag the flashlight on his helmet with one of the straps again… or if he moved a bit to the left, he’ll find that the floor plating there is tilted just a bit, perhaps enough to make him slip…
Vegastig had been living undercover with these flesh-ape-creatures for a while now. He liked their spirit! And they remind him of how things used to be, during the war, even if other Cybertronians would give him flack for getting attached to the short-lived creatures. He didn’t care. They were so silly and interesting! And his favorite one has come to visit him early early in the morning! He was pleased.
Vegastig, ex-Decepticon tracker and Scrapper, waited in anticipation to see which trap the man would find first.
@mxchineandnerve
"You idiot! I wasn't trying to stab you! I was trying to fix you!"
Just because this alien had decided to disguise himself as human military hardware clearly didn't mean that said alien knew how that hardware worked.
The laser cutter wasn't a weapon, but simply a tool for removing an already-affixed panel so that the Chief might have access to the Pelican's innards. He knew enough about Pelicans to conduct minor field repairs, but that was about it. He certainly wasn't expect that Pelican to be a walking talking sentient creature. What kind of a thing was Vegastig even; some kind of super-advanced A.I. in a shapeshifting metal frame? What kind of mechanisms did it take to get a piece of technology like that working. This thing was far more advanced than even the Covenant and their remnant-factions were capable of. John hadn't even seen something like this come from the tomb-planets of the long-dead Forerunners. Who or what built Vegastig and why?
Was like the Chief himself, a war-machine, a weapon built for subduing threats to another more advanced species? "You'd be surprised. I've seen things most of my species would go insane over encountering. I've seen things even you wouldn't believe are actually out there!"
“Oh really? I think you underestimate how many of your little fleshie life-cycles I’ve been around. I’ve seen a lot too, little green goblin. Perhaps even things you wouldn’t believe, either.”
He settled a bit, shifting in the sand to dig himself in a bit. He had no idea about Chief’s inner questioning.
He tilted his head at him, smiling with his glossa between his dente.
“Trying to fix me? Nothing was broken! Oh, you are adorable! I think I’ll keep you, you know. I think we can help each other.”
It was late. Or was it early? He didn’t know. Something woke him up, though.
Vegastig nearly stretched out into root mode, but stopped last second.
‘That’s right, I’m incognito..’ he shook a bit instead, adjusting his sensors and EM field to ‘look’ around. Something woke him up.
It took him a few seconds to figure it out, but when he did, his internal screens lit up gleefully.
His new favorite flesh-creature was here again! With that silly data pad again but honestly Stig didn’t care.
What did he want? Probably more pictures and scans. Stig didn’t care, he didn’t much pay attention to what the fleshies talked about.
He shifted slowly, to not make any noise. If the green-armored fleshling would step an inch to the right, he could snag the flashlight on his helmet with one of the straps again… or if he moved a bit to the left, he’ll find that the floor plating there is tilted just a bit, perhaps enough to make him slip…
Vegastig had been living undercover with these flesh-ape-creatures for a while now. He liked their spirit! And they remind him of how things used to be, during the war, even if other Cybertronians would give him flack for getting attached to the short-lived creatures. He didn’t care. They were so silly and interesting! And his favorite one has come to visit him early early in the morning! He was pleased.
Vegastig, ex-Decepticon tracker and Scrapper, waited in anticipation to see which trap the man would find first.
@mxchineandnerve
"I...stabbed you?"
How would he have stabbed this, thing, unless.....
Oh.
Oh wait.
The laser cutter, of course! To this alien robot creature thing, it must have been like a bowie knife in the ribs. Well, how the hell was he supposed to know that the strange Pelican with a bizarre computer glitch was actually alive?
And not just alive, but sentient!
This thing was on the same level as his fellow men and women or more accurately, whatever smart A.I.s that hadn't been duped into playing into Cortana's schemes.
" How was I supposed to know you were in there? Pelicans don't just transform into walking talking metal men!" Said the walking talking metal-encased man.
" Am I supposed to assume every Pelican is going to kidnap me and fly me out to the goddamn desert?!"
Profanity was not a common guest in the Master Chief's mouth. He thought himself above vulgarity; it was unprofessional, and he, well, he was THE professional. He had a reputation, expectations the whole of the fucking human race rested on his shoulders. He had to uphold that reputation.
But not now.
Oh, not now.
Strange times called for shocking measures.
“Do you just go around stabbing Pelicans?” Stig tilted to the side, then the other side, leaning over Chief.
“Wow, you are a little freak, aren’t you? When the warthog’s brakes start squeaking do you shoot it? So weird!”
Vegastig grinned, amused. He reached down to poke at Chief’s helmet with one claw.
“Oh, little guy. You’re still panicking aren’t you? Are you normally this easy to spook? I thought those smaller humans said nothing could shock you anymore.”
Stig said it with care, but his grin spoke volumes about how amusing he found the situation.
It was late. Or was it early? He didn’t know. Something woke him up, though.
Vegastig nearly stretched out into root mode, but stopped last second.
‘That’s right, I’m incognito..’ he shook a bit instead, adjusting his sensors and EM field to ‘look’ around. Something woke him up.
It took him a few seconds to figure it out, but when he did, his internal screens lit up gleefully.
His new favorite flesh-creature was here again! With that silly data pad again but honestly Stig didn’t care.
What did he want? Probably more pictures and scans. Stig didn’t care, he didn’t much pay attention to what the fleshies talked about.
He shifted slowly, to not make any noise. If the green-armored fleshling would step an inch to the right, he could snag the flashlight on his helmet with one of the straps again… or if he moved a bit to the left, he’ll find that the floor plating there is tilted just a bit, perhaps enough to make him slip…
Vegastig had been living undercover with these flesh-ape-creatures for a while now. He liked their spirit! And they remind him of how things used to be, during the war, even if other Cybertronians would give him flack for getting attached to the short-lived creatures. He didn’t care. They were so silly and interesting! And his favorite one has come to visit him early early in the morning! He was pleased.
Vegastig, ex-Decepticon tracker and Scrapper, waited in anticipation to see which trap the man would find first.
@mxchineandnerve
The legendary Spartan reached for his sidearm again, only to find it conspicuously missing. Dammit! It must have fallen off him when this thing lifted him into the air, this thing that he couldn't make heads or tails of. It looked humanoid, it spoke plain English, but it was like nothing he'd ever seen before. Was it some sort of ONI experiment? It had to be! Why else would it have taken the form of a UNSC vehicle? Why else would it speak a human language? "What the hell are you? Who the hell sent you? Are you some kind of section-III freak?"
That was rich, coming from him, the certified section-III freak. But who could have set this up? Was Parangosky testing her new weapon out on him? Why? had he not already proven his worth? Was this some kind of ploy to 'retire' him? It must be! It was just like ONI to employ some kind of undercover assassin to make his death look like an accident; only this assassin was a 20 foot robot that was previously a Pelican.
“Well, you’ve stopped struggling, at least…”
Stig knelt down, peeking back towards the direction of the base and flattening his wings against his back, an unconscious sign of worry.
He looked back at Chief quickly. “I am Vegastig, ex-Decepticon territory explorer and locator. I am from Cybertron! And no one sent me! I just happen to like you little weirdos.” He poked at John’s chest with one finger a little roughly.
“And you stabbed inside me! That was rude!” He blasted air from his vents, stirring up the sand.
“All I did was show you a few glyphs, and you stab me!”
Stig turned his face away, utterly displeased. “And your little bang bang put holes in my paint job. Have you got any idea how difficult it is to match paints?” He looked back to glare at the human. “And such a dreary color too. You fleshies couldn’t choose something a little less drab? No wonder you’re all depressed.”
Stig lowered Chief towards the ground.
“Don’t run. If you run, I’ll have to stop you, and as much as I find you entertaining, I can just as easy squish you and find someone else.”
Stig didn’t want to be discovered like this, and this ‘section III’ this little guy mentioned sounds worrisome. Stig was a little shaken at how easily it would have been for any of the flashings to force him into root mode with a well-placed cutter….a weakness he will rectify after he clears up this issue.
"You're a what?!" The Chief remarked.
Did this gigantic robot just call itself a deceptive con? And the Chief was just supposed to trust it on its word?! For all he knew, this, this, well, whatever it was could be lying to him right now! "And how do I know you're not just gonna crush me right now? Am I supposed to take a deceptive con at its word?" Inside him? He stabbed inside him? If this thing was truly alive in the same way a smart A.I. like Cortana was. And if so, was this 'it' a 'he'? He sounded masculine enough, but if this thing was as alien as he claimed to be, who knew what constituted gender on his planet. Sure, Sangheili were similar to humans in that regard, but this thing wasn't even made of flesh and blood. John could seldom imagine something more alien, which was why he didn't entirely believe it to be alien. While it would explain the unknown language it was broadcasting, it had to have been built by something or someone. If it wasn't human technology, or even something the Forerunners created, than who made the machine before him?
Vegastig huffed out his vents again, blasting more sand into the air. “Decepticon! One word! It means ‘We who will no longer be deceived’…or, well, that’s a loose translation…”
Stig poked at his chest a bit in thought, unconsciously poking over the new dents in his paint job.
“If I wanted you squished, I would have squished you already. I could have squished all you little things on this base if I wanted to, but I don’t! What’s so hard to figure out about this?” Stig snapped and pointed at Chief, as if coming to a realization. “Oh your processor is small, isn’t it? It takes you a long time to understand things! I should have known.”
Stig was quite proud of himself for figuring that out. “Okay, I’ll talk slower. Hello. My name is Vegastig. I am an alien.” He spoke slowly to chief. “Vegastig.” He pointed at his own chest. “No squish you, green man. Vegastig friend!”
So it wasn't built by human hands after all. And it wasn't a piece of Forerunner technology ( Those long-dead bastards had a habit of adding unnecessary levitating pieces to their robots). It certainly wasn't a product of the Covenant. From what the Chief had learned from the Arbiter, the Covenant had a prohibition on artificial intelligence for fear that they'd be counterfeiting what their gods had already perfectly made. So this thing was some kind of sapient alien machine.
While that explained the yet unknown glyphs, that left a lot more questions than answers.
How did it know English? Who, or rather, what, built this thing anyway?
Where did it, or rather, he, come from?
Was he a prototype, a weapon, or something else entirely?
Was he the only one or was there some sort of ARMY of shapeshifting sapient alien robots?!
And why was this Vegastig thing treating him like an idiot, or a small child?
"I'm not an idiot, Vegastig." Said one miffed Chief.
"Just because I'm a soldier doesn't mean I'm a slobbering buffoon who just blindly follows orders! Is that what you think of humans?!" Although, could John even call himself human? If anything, he had more in common with this machine than he did with the average man. His body was a weapon, torn to shreds and rebuilt from a very young age for a life of endless war. He knew no peace; even the slightest calm made him uneasy. He was larger than the average man and five times as strong. He could flip a Scorpion tank as though it was as flimsy as a bedsheet. He had been further altered by the wraith of a dead civilization, changing him on the genetic level.
He knew no peace; he actively avoided it, throwing himself into conflict after conflict in a desperate bid to escape the demons that haunted his dreams.
Was he human, or was he the Master Chief, John-117, savior of humanity time and time again?
Vegastig clapped his hands together, pleased. “You remembered my name! Good job, green human!”
He settled back, letting his hot jets sizzle in the sand of this planet. “I thought humans were supposed to be fast learners. You seem to be having trouble, though. Are you okay? Are you calmed? Are you going to scream and run and wipe out in this sand?”
He was silent a moment, looking down at the human. “Well, at least you didn’t panic, right?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice, and he got comfortable.
“Don’t feel too bad, little guy. I know big new things are scary, and I have every right to hurt you for stabbing me, but I won’t.”
It was late. Or was it early? He didn’t know. Something woke him up, though.
Vegastig nearly stretched out into root mode, but stopped last second.
‘That’s right, I’m incognito..’ he shook a bit instead, adjusting his sensors and EM field to ‘look’ around. Something woke him up.
It took him a few seconds to figure it out, but when he did, his internal screens lit up gleefully.
His new favorite flesh-creature was here again! With that silly data pad again but honestly Stig didn’t care.
What did he want? Probably more pictures and scans. Stig didn’t care, he didn’t much pay attention to what the fleshies talked about.
He shifted slowly, to not make any noise. If the green-armored fleshling would step an inch to the right, he could snag the flashlight on his helmet with one of the straps again… or if he moved a bit to the left, he’ll find that the floor plating there is tilted just a bit, perhaps enough to make him slip…
Vegastig had been living undercover with these flesh-ape-creatures for a while now. He liked their spirit! And they remind him of how things used to be, during the war, even if other Cybertronians would give him flack for getting attached to the short-lived creatures. He didn’t care. They were so silly and interesting! And his favorite one has come to visit him early early in the morning! He was pleased.
Vegastig, ex-Decepticon tracker and Scrapper, waited in anticipation to see which trap the man would find first.
@mxchineandnerve
The legendary Spartan reached for his sidearm again, only to find it conspicuously missing. Dammit! It must have fallen off him when this thing lifted him into the air, this thing that he couldn't make heads or tails of. It looked humanoid, it spoke plain English, but it was like nothing he'd ever seen before. Was it some sort of ONI experiment? It had to be! Why else would it have taken the form of a UNSC vehicle? Why else would it speak a human language? "What the hell are you? Who the hell sent you? Are you some kind of section-III freak?"
That was rich, coming from him, the certified section-III freak. But who could have set this up? Was Parangosky testing her new weapon out on him? Why? had he not already proven his worth? Was this some kind of ploy to 'retire' him? It must be! It was just like ONI to employ some kind of undercover assassin to make his death look like an accident; only this assassin was a 20 foot robot that was previously a Pelican.
“Well, you’ve stopped struggling, at least…”
Stig knelt down, peeking back towards the direction of the base and flattening his wings against his back, an unconscious sign of worry.
He looked back at Chief quickly. “I am Vegastig, ex-Decepticon territory explorer and locator. I am from Cybertron! And no one sent me! I just happen to like you little weirdos.” He poked at John’s chest with one finger a little roughly.
“And you stabbed inside me! That was rude!” He blasted air from his vents, stirring up the sand.
“All I did was show you a few glyphs, and you stab me!”
Stig turned his face away, utterly displeased. “And your little bang bang put holes in my paint job. Have you got any idea how difficult it is to match paints?” He looked back to glare at the human. “And such a dreary color too. You fleshies couldn’t choose something a little less drab? No wonder you’re all depressed.”
Stig lowered Chief towards the ground.
“Don’t run. If you run, I’ll have to stop you, and as much as I find you entertaining, I can just as easy squish you and find someone else.”
Stig didn’t want to be discovered like this, and this ‘section III’ this little guy mentioned sounds worrisome. Stig was a little shaken at how easily it would have been for any of the flashings to force him into root mode with a well-placed cutter….a weakness he will rectify after he clears up this issue.
"You're a what?!" The Chief remarked.
Did this gigantic robot just call itself a deceptive con? And the Chief was just supposed to trust it on its word?! For all he knew, this, this, well, whatever it was could be lying to him right now! "And how do I know you're not just gonna crush me right now? Am I supposed to take a deceptive con at its word?" Inside him? He stabbed inside him? If this thing was truly alive in the same way a smart A.I. like Cortana was. And if so, was this 'it' a 'he'? He sounded masculine enough, but if this thing was as alien as he claimed to be, who knew what constituted gender on his planet. Sure, Sangheili were similar to humans in that regard, but this thing wasn't even made of flesh and blood. John could seldom imagine something more alien, which was why he didn't entirely believe it to be alien. While it would explain the unknown language it was broadcasting, it had to have been built by something or someone. If it wasn't human technology, or even something the Forerunners created, than who made the machine before him?
Vegastig huffed out his vents again, blasting more sand into the air. “Decepticon! One word! It means ‘We who will no longer be deceived’…or, well, that’s a loose translation…”
Stig poked at his chest a bit in thought, unconsciously poking over the new dents in his paint job.
“If I wanted you squished, I would have squished you already. I could have squished all you little things on this base if I wanted to, but I don’t! What’s so hard to figure out about this?” Stig snapped and pointed at Chief, as if coming to a realization. “Oh your processor is small, isn’t it? It takes you a long time to understand things! I should have known.”
Stig was quite proud of himself for figuring that out. “Okay, I’ll talk slower. Hello. My name is Vegastig. I am an alien.” He spoke slowly to chief. “Vegastig.” He pointed at his own chest. “No squish you, green man. Vegastig friend!”
Reblog if u want anonymous dms and asks :)
It was late. Or was it early? He didn’t know. Something woke him up, though.
Vegastig nearly stretched out into root mode, but stopped last second.
‘That’s right, I’m incognito..’ he shook a bit instead, adjusting his sensors and EM field to ‘look’ around. Something woke him up.
It took him a few seconds to figure it out, but when he did, his internal screens lit up gleefully.
His new favorite flesh-creature was here again! With that silly data pad again but honestly Stig didn’t care.
What did he want? Probably more pictures and scans. Stig didn’t care, he didn’t much pay attention to what the fleshies talked about.
He shifted slowly, to not make any noise. If the green-armored fleshling would step an inch to the right, he could snag the flashlight on his helmet with one of the straps again… or if he moved a bit to the left, he’ll find that the floor plating there is tilted just a bit, perhaps enough to make him slip…
Vegastig had been living undercover with these flesh-ape-creatures for a while now. He liked their spirit! And they remind him of how things used to be, during the war, even if other Cybertronians would give him flack for getting attached to the short-lived creatures. He didn’t care. They were so silly and interesting! And his favorite one has come to visit him early early in the morning! He was pleased.
Vegastig, ex-Decepticon tracker and Scrapper, waited in anticipation to see which trap the man would find first.
@mxchineandnerve
The legendary Spartan reached for his sidearm again, only to find it conspicuously missing. Dammit! It must have fallen off him when this thing lifted him into the air, this thing that he couldn't make heads or tails of. It looked humanoid, it spoke plain English, but it was like nothing he'd ever seen before. Was it some sort of ONI experiment? It had to be! Why else would it have taken the form of a UNSC vehicle? Why else would it speak a human language? "What the hell are you? Who the hell sent you? Are you some kind of section-III freak?"
That was rich, coming from him, the certified section-III freak. But who could have set this up? Was Parangosky testing her new weapon out on him? Why? had he not already proven his worth? Was this some kind of ploy to 'retire' him? It must be! It was just like ONI to employ some kind of undercover assassin to make his death look like an accident; only this assassin was a 20 foot robot that was previously a Pelican.
“Well, you’ve stopped struggling, at least…”
Stig knelt down, peeking back towards the direction of the base and flattening his wings against his back, an unconscious sign of worry.
He looked back at Chief quickly. “I am Vegastig, ex-Decepticon territory explorer and locator. I am from Cybertron! And no one sent me! I just happen to like you little weirdos.” He poked at John’s chest with one finger a little roughly.
“And you stabbed inside me! That was rude!” He blasted air from his vents, stirring up the sand.
“All I did was show you a few glyphs, and you stab me!”
Stig turned his face away, utterly displeased. “And your little bang bang put holes in my paint job. Have you got any idea how difficult it is to match paints?” He looked back to glare at the human. “And such a dreary color too. You fleshies couldn’t choose something a little less drab? No wonder you’re all depressed.”
Stig lowered Chief towards the ground.
“Don’t run. If you run, I’ll have to stop you, and as much as I find you entertaining, I can just as easy squish you and find someone else.”
Stig didn’t want to be discovered like this, and this ‘section III’ this little guy mentioned sounds worrisome. Stig was a little shaken at how easily it would have been for any of the flashings to force him into root mode with a well-placed cutter….a weakness he will rectify after he clears up this issue.
It was late. Or was it early? He didn’t know. Something woke him up, though.
Vegastig nearly stretched out into root mode, but stopped last second.
‘That’s right, I’m incognito..’ he shook a bit instead, adjusting his sensors and EM field to ‘look’ around. Something woke him up.
It took him a few seconds to figure it out, but when he did, his internal screens lit up gleefully.
His new favorite flesh-creature was here again! With that silly data pad again but honestly Stig didn’t care.
What did he want? Probably more pictures and scans. Stig didn’t care, he didn’t much pay attention to what the fleshies talked about.
He shifted slowly, to not make any noise. If the green-armored fleshling would step an inch to the right, he could snag the flashlight on his helmet with one of the straps again… or if he moved a bit to the left, he’ll find that the floor plating there is tilted just a bit, perhaps enough to make him slip…
Vegastig had been living undercover with these flesh-ape-creatures for a while now. He liked their spirit! And they remind him of how things used to be, during the war, even if other Cybertronians would give him flack for getting attached to the short-lived creatures. He didn’t care. They were so silly and interesting! And his favorite one has come to visit him early early in the morning! He was pleased.
Vegastig, ex-Decepticon tracker and Scrapper, waited in anticipation to see which trap the man would find first.
@mxchineandnerve
The Spartan was expecting literally anything but this. Before he could so much as gather his thoughts, the errant Pelican erupted into a dizzying cacophony of shifting metal. It was as though he was staring into ( and being jostled by) some kind of arcane fractal art. Thank heavens he'd had the sense not to leave his armor behind. The impact alone might have killed him! And just as quickly as it had come, it was over, and the Chief had been spat onto the tarmac like a grain out of a salt shaker. He landed on his hands and knees and shook himself off. The beating he'd taken in there tossed his stomach like a summer salad. Taking deep breaths, he fought the urge to vomit in his helmet. A few moments later, he noticed the gargantuan shadow looming over him, blocking the soothing glow of this world's two moons. Wait, what was that? What was that?! Without thinking, John unholstered his sidearm, an M6G Magnum and pointed it at the gargantuan humanoid figure as though bullets would be enough to take this thing out.
Stig had his own gun pointed down at the human, and he was angry, but soon that anger dissipated into something more like curiosity. He put his wrist-gun away and tilted his head down at the human.
He wasn’t screaming or running.
“Fascinating…” Stig knelt down, observing the creature more closely.
“Little fool, do you think that tiny peashooter is going to damage me in the slightest? Are you delusional?”
Of course, his protective visor was down over his optics, but one can never be too sure.
The creature in question backpedaled fast, as though the mechanical humanoid's mere presence alone would kill him. Without thinking he raised is weapon and fired off every shot the pistol had in it, hoping to at least do enough damage to scare it away.
What even was this thing?
Was it some kind of ONI weapon?
Were they capable of building a machine this advanced, a machine that could perfectly mimic a vehicle and shapeshift at will? A thing like this certainly had its strategic advantages.
But ONI didn't have their greasy little mitts on tech like this, at least not that their Master Chief knew of.
That didn't explain that bizarre language it was trying to communicate with him in.
The Chief had run those glyphs through every linguistic database he could get his hands on. They matched no known human language, nor any of the nonhuman languages that had only recently been cataloged.
This lead the Spartan to one frightening conclusion;
This thing was not made by human hands, nor was it the creation of any species anyone knew about. Not even the Forerunners themselves had things like this.
John-117 may be looking at the work of something yet unknown to mankind.
Vegastig scrunched his nasal playing as every bullet bounced off his plating. He noted with disconnected interest that every bullet hit him, at least. This guy had some decent aim.
Stig huffed through his nose and flicked his wings in annoyance.
“Hey, quit that! You’re wasting your ammo!”
Stig had been outfitted for space travel, and exploration. He’s felt hail hit harder than those bullets, but he didn’t question their danger near his sensitive areas, and subtly shifted his armor to cover his joints a little better.
He reached out the grab the human, around his midriff.
“Quit it!”
Before the Spartan had time to reload, or even to parse out where on this mechanical monstrosity looked like a 'weak spot', he found himself lifted into the air like he was little more than a pencil in the hands of a gigantic writer. He writhed and twisted in the thing's grip, beginning to panic like a fish out of water. This wasn't the first time something many times his size had scooped him up. He could still smell the reek of thousands of decaying corpses in his nose. He could still hear the rotting litany of voices overlapping, forming a wretched timeless chorus taunting him with the promise of its revival. So he squirmed even harder, as though sheer Spartan muscle would be enough to break the hold of this beast.
Stig nearly dropped the man, and he brought up his free servo to hang on to him a little better. “Hey, chill out! You’re gonna make me drop you, and then you’ll really dent the ground!”
The squirming didn’t lessen any, and Vegastig cursed in his home language. “You’re gonna scratch my paint, guy.”
It was getting difficult to grip the man without squeezing too hard, and Stig didn’t want to accidentally squeeze him to death. He looked to the base, which was still too close to be comfortable for his root form.
With a short moment of struggle, he decided to get them some space. Putting a hand over the man, he addressed him.
“Alright strugglebug, let’s go have a talk.”
With a short pop and a micro-transformation, he kicked on his thrusters and rose into the air, tipping his wings and shooting out into the open wilderness. He kept a eye on his link to the base’s scanners, staying just below the detection altitude and just above the ground sensors, moving until he found a spot suitable for his needs.
This planet was pretty barren, mostly sand and slate-like rock structures, so Stig decided on a spot with a few rocks, heavy on the sand. He landed heavily, the force of his weight kicking up a bunch of the gritty sand.
“Ugh. Are you done?” He opened his hands to look at the man he technically stole, palms up and cupping him in both hands.
It was late. Or was it early? He didn’t know. Something woke him up, though.
Vegastig nearly stretched out into root mode, but stopped last second.
‘That’s right, I’m incognito..’ he shook a bit instead, adjusting his sensors and EM field to ‘look’ around. Something woke him up.
It took him a few seconds to figure it out, but when he did, his internal screens lit up gleefully.
His new favorite flesh-creature was here again! With that silly data pad again but honestly Stig didn’t care.
What did he want? Probably more pictures and scans. Stig didn’t care, he didn’t much pay attention to what the fleshies talked about.
He shifted slowly, to not make any noise. If the green-armored fleshling would step an inch to the right, he could snag the flashlight on his helmet with one of the straps again… or if he moved a bit to the left, he’ll find that the floor plating there is tilted just a bit, perhaps enough to make him slip…
Vegastig had been living undercover with these flesh-ape-creatures for a while now. He liked their spirit! And they remind him of how things used to be, during the war, even if other Cybertronians would give him flack for getting attached to the short-lived creatures. He didn’t care. They were so silly and interesting! And his favorite one has come to visit him early early in the morning! He was pleased.
Vegastig, ex-Decepticon tracker and Scrapper, waited in anticipation to see which trap the man would find first.
@mxchineandnerve
The Spartan was expecting literally anything but this. Before he could so much as gather his thoughts, the errant Pelican erupted into a dizzying cacophony of shifting metal. It was as though he was staring into ( and being jostled by) some kind of arcane fractal art. Thank heavens he'd had the sense not to leave his armor behind. The impact alone might have killed him! And just as quickly as it had come, it was over, and the Chief had been spat onto the tarmac like a grain out of a salt shaker. He landed on his hands and knees and shook himself off. The beating he'd taken in there tossed his stomach like a summer salad. Taking deep breaths, he fought the urge to vomit in his helmet. A few moments later, he noticed the gargantuan shadow looming over him, blocking the soothing glow of this world's two moons. Wait, what was that? What was that?! Without thinking, John unholstered his sidearm, an M6G Magnum and pointed it at the gargantuan humanoid figure as though bullets would be enough to take this thing out.
Stig had his own gun pointed down at the human, and he was angry, but soon that anger dissipated into something more like curiosity. He put his wrist-gun away and tilted his head down at the human.
He wasn’t screaming or running.
“Fascinating…” Stig knelt down, observing the creature more closely.
“Little fool, do you think that tiny peashooter is going to damage me in the slightest? Are you delusional?”
Of course, his protective visor was down over his optics, but one can never be too sure.
The creature in question backpedaled fast, as though the mechanical humanoid's mere presence alone would kill him. Without thinking he raised is weapon and fired off every shot the pistol had in it, hoping to at least do enough damage to scare it away.
What even was this thing?
Was it some kind of ONI weapon?
Were they capable of building a machine this advanced, a machine that could perfectly mimic a vehicle and shapeshift at will? A thing like this certainly had its strategic advantages.
But ONI didn't have their greasy little mitts on tech like this, at least not that their Master Chief knew of.
That didn't explain that bizarre language it was trying to communicate with him in.
The Chief had run those glyphs through every linguistic database he could get his hands on. They matched no known human language, nor any of the nonhuman languages that had only recently been cataloged.
This lead the Spartan to one frightening conclusion;
This thing was not made by human hands, nor was it the creation of any species anyone knew about. Not even the Forerunners themselves had things like this.
John-117 may be looking at the work of something yet unknown to mankind.
Vegastig scrunched his nasal playing as every bullet bounced off his plating. He noted with disconnected interest that every bullet hit him, at least. This guy had some decent aim.
Stig huffed through his nose and flicked his wings in annoyance.
“Hey, quit that! You’re wasting your ammo!”
Stig had been outfitted for space travel, and exploration. He’s felt hail hit harder than those bullets, but he didn’t question their danger near his sensitive areas, and subtly shifted his armor to cover his joints a little better.
He reached out the grab the human, around his midriff.
“Quit it!”
It was late. Or was it early? He didn’t know. Something woke him up, though.
Vegastig nearly stretched out into root mode, but stopped last second.
‘That’s right, I’m incognito..’ he shook a bit instead, adjusting his sensors and EM field to ‘look’ around. Something woke him up.
It took him a few seconds to figure it out, but when he did, his internal screens lit up gleefully.
His new favorite flesh-creature was here again! With that silly data pad again but honestly Stig didn’t care.
What did he want? Probably more pictures and scans. Stig didn’t care, he didn’t much pay attention to what the fleshies talked about.
He shifted slowly, to not make any noise. If the green-armored fleshling would step an inch to the right, he could snag the flashlight on his helmet with one of the straps again… or if he moved a bit to the left, he’ll find that the floor plating there is tilted just a bit, perhaps enough to make him slip…
Vegastig had been living undercover with these flesh-ape-creatures for a while now. He liked their spirit! And they remind him of how things used to be, during the war, even if other Cybertronians would give him flack for getting attached to the short-lived creatures. He didn’t care. They were so silly and interesting! And his favorite one has come to visit him early early in the morning! He was pleased.
Vegastig, ex-Decepticon tracker and Scrapper, waited in anticipation to see which trap the man would find first.
@mxchineandnerve
The Spartan was expecting literally anything but this. Before he could so much as gather his thoughts, the errant Pelican erupted into a dizzying cacophony of shifting metal. It was as though he was staring into ( and being jostled by) some kind of arcane fractal art. Thank heavens he'd had the sense not to leave his armor behind. The impact alone might have killed him! And just as quickly as it had come, it was over, and the Chief had been spat onto the tarmac like a grain out of a salt shaker. He landed on his hands and knees and shook himself off. The beating he'd taken in there tossed his stomach like a summer salad. Taking deep breaths, he fought the urge to vomit in his helmet. A few moments later, he noticed the gargantuan shadow looming over him, blocking the soothing glow of this world's two moons. Wait, what was that? What was that?! Without thinking, John unholstered his sidearm, an M6G Magnum and pointed it at the gargantuan humanoid figure as though bullets would be enough to take this thing out.
Stig had his own gun pointed down at the human, and he was angry, but soon that anger dissipated into something more like curiosity. He put his wrist-gun away and tilted his head down at the human.
He wasn’t screaming or running.
“Fascinating…” Stig knelt down, observing the creature more closely.
“Little fool, do you think that tiny peashooter is going to damage me in the slightest? Are you delusional?”
Of course, his protective visor was down over his optics, but one can never be too sure.
It was late. Or was it early? He didn’t know. Something woke him up, though.
Vegastig nearly stretched out into root mode, but stopped last second.
‘That’s right, I’m incognito..’ he shook a bit instead, adjusting his sensors and EM field to ‘look’ around. Something woke him up.
It took him a few seconds to figure it out, but when he did, his internal screens lit up gleefully.
His new favorite flesh-creature was here again! With that silly data pad again but honestly Stig didn’t care.
What did he want? Probably more pictures and scans. Stig didn’t care, he didn’t much pay attention to what the fleshies talked about.
He shifted slowly, to not make any noise. If the green-armored fleshling would step an inch to the right, he could snag the flashlight on his helmet with one of the straps again… or if he moved a bit to the left, he’ll find that the floor plating there is tilted just a bit, perhaps enough to make him slip…
Vegastig had been living undercover with these flesh-ape-creatures for a while now. He liked their spirit! And they remind him of how things used to be, during the war, even if other Cybertronians would give him flack for getting attached to the short-lived creatures. He didn’t care. They were so silly and interesting! And his favorite one has come to visit him early early in the morning! He was pleased.
Vegastig, ex-Decepticon tracker and Scrapper, waited in anticipation to see which trap the man would find first.
@mxchineandnerve
"One way or another," The chief muttered to nobody in particular.
Perhaps he was muttering to himself. Perhaps he was threatening this bizarre vehicle. Who or whatever was sending him messages in this yet uncharted language was about to find out.
"I'm finding out what's wrong with you." Without any further warning, he activated the cutting tool's searing edge and scooted himself beneath the console. There was a panel around her that had been welded shut by the vehicle's builders. If he could remove it, he'd be able to access the series of wires and circuit-boards that were the console's guts. @vegastig-the-scrapper
Vegastig braced, unsure, when his sensors detected the cutter being activated, but when the man scooted under the console, Stig began to panic.
Glyphs popped up on the screen, despite the fact that the man was in no position to see them.
‘Hey, what are you-?’
The message glitched as the cutting edge made contact with his metal.
IT STINGS. PRIMUS IT STINGS!
Vegastig couldn’t stay still, his weapons systems were coming online and he reactively jerked away from the pain.
However, his reaction was a violent shake, and he pushed the cutting point deeper into the metal.
Vegastig decided that this cover was over, and he violently rocked on his landing gear, shaking the human around inside the chassis until he was in a safer position for him to transform.
He did so, dropping the human roughly on the asphalt as he did so. With a flourish and a stretch, he stood in his root mode, bright red eyes focusing on the green-armored human below him.
With a quick sub-transformation, his wrist-pistol formed from one of his hands and lowered to point at the human.
“Ow.”
It was late. Or was it early? He didn’t know. Something woke him up, though.
Vegastig nearly stretched out into root mode, but stopped last second.
‘That’s right, I’m incognito..’ he shook a bit instead, adjusting his sensors and EM field to ‘look’ around. Something woke him up.
It took him a few seconds to figure it out, but when he did, his internal screens lit up gleefully.
His new favorite flesh-creature was here again! With that silly data pad again but honestly Stig didn’t care.
What did he want? Probably more pictures and scans. Stig didn’t care, he didn’t much pay attention to what the fleshies talked about.
He shifted slowly, to not make any noise. If the green-armored fleshling would step an inch to the right, he could snag the flashlight on his helmet with one of the straps again… or if he moved a bit to the left, he’ll find that the floor plating there is tilted just a bit, perhaps enough to make him slip…
Vegastig had been living undercover with these flesh-ape-creatures for a while now. He liked their spirit! And they remind him of how things used to be, during the war, even if other Cybertronians would give him flack for getting attached to the short-lived creatures. He didn’t care. They were so silly and interesting! And his favorite one has come to visit him early early in the morning! He was pleased.
Vegastig, ex-Decepticon tracker and Scrapper, waited in anticipation to see which trap the man would find first.
@mxchineandnerve
There it was again! The glowing screen! The mystery language! All he had to do was get a picture of the bizarre scripts. If someone saw this language, if someone saw he had proof of it, maybe they'd stop doubting his sanity. The previous pilot was one thing, but two witnesses to this machine's insanity would be a difficult thing to ignore. There! Done! Now that he'd gotten that out of the way, he produced a plasma torch small enough to use as a scalpel. Though the chief only had a cursory knowledge of the inner workings of Pelicans, he knew enough to make field repair, to diagnose a problem that a trained specialist could fix. He, after all, was a Spartan, not a mechanic. "Alright!" He said to no one in particular. "Let's have a look at you!"
Vegastig let out a little amused glyph, letting his EM field loose enough to weaken the little human-made communication signals.
‘Yes, man-thing, try your translations. I could be sending you gibberish and you’d have no idea.’
He waited in curiosity as the armored man put the data pad away and produced a small tool. His sensors told him it was hot, in a cutting point. He wasn’t sure if it could cut through his plating, but he didn’t really want to deal with a sting.
He raised the docking door and disengaged from the landing pad. He can take off if he needs to, but he doesn’t want to show his hand yet.
Very subtly, he waited for the Spartan to make the next move, setting up traps for him in either direction. He spelled out words in Cybertronian on his screen. ‘Don’t go poking me, green man’.
CALLING ALL CURIOUS ANONS!
Send me a question you have always wanted to know about my muse.
