ArchivedLogs:Scavengers
| Scavengers | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | Wednesday, 8 April 2020 "Don't die." (Part of the Future Past TP.) |
| Location
<NYC> | |
It's a somewhat crumbly corner of the city, or at least it is now. The buildings that still stand are largely vacant, some of them advertising this quite clearly through missing windows, doors,...walls. The more /recent/ crumbling is in evidence as it still settles over three quite banged-up and somewhat dismembered Sentinels strewn across the alley. Standing over it all is another Sentinel with a large /sack/ over one shoulder like an eerie robot Santa Claus. It appears to be /humming/ a pleasant snippet of "Spring" from Vivaldi's "Four Seasons" as it shoves debris off of its fallen comrades, ripping into the metal bodies as it unearths them and cooing now and then over some choice bit that gets added to the sack. The collector twirls with her bag, then skips to the next pile to sort. Moving through the ruins and rubble, there is the occasional soft crunch of boots on bits of concrete and pebbles. The sounds of things being ripped off of other things and the general noisemaking occurring however draws the attention of the invisible traveler, and peeking around a wall the humming and sack over a sentinel does rather cause a few heartbeats to skip and confusion to pass through his thoughts. "Never knew a sentinel to hum," Faelan's voice comes from around the corner hopefully loud enough for whatever this not probable bot was doing. "Possessor, shapeshifter, or remote hack?" which his question probably wouldn't receive a desirable response if this was an insane AI sentinel, but he was ready to jump. The sound draws the robot up short of shoving a hunk of concrete off of a fallen apparently-comrade. "These are mine!" it declares in a young woman's voice, levelling an arm with its webshooter in the direction of the sound and motion. "You can have what is left when I am done if you are good." So magnanimous, this robot. /Smiling/, even. Its head tip-tip-tilts at the newcomer's question like a cat surveying something truly curious. "Oh, do guess! I love guessing games. Animal-vegetable-mineral..." It stalks a little closer to the voice, but only a little as it is unwilling to abandon the metallic bodies strewn across the ground. "Who are you?" "Yeah yeah, I'm a scavenger, not a prey taker," comes Faelan's voice as he keeps a wall between him and any weaponry. "Not sure. A hacker would probably be grumpier, at least every one I know. A shapeshifter is likely, but staying in sentinel form doesn't seem a good idea when an unknown approaches. Better to escape than risk capture after all." There is hrming, but no sounds of movement. "I knew a possessor before, but I lost touch after the explosion." Chuckling at the question of who he is, he pauses as if trying to decide. "I am Lost. Those who know that name know it for a reason, and those that don't know that name probably wouldn't care about any other name." “Caw caw,” the robot teases at that description, likely mimicking a crow. “The computer people do tend to be a little surly. I think they like computers better than people. Though, honestly, I cannot say that I blame them anymore. Computers are /nice/. People are mostly awful.” The girl's voice giggles, particularly at odds with the robot's appearance. “Oh, dear. You /cannot/ catch me.” The amusement abruptly cuts off at mention of the explosion. The lifted arm doesn't falter until the name, however. “Lost-Lost? Little Boy Lost? Poof away from the library?” "People can't catch me either. There is a reason why I am here..." Faelan pauses again at the question, peeking a few more times at the robot and its sack. "One and the same. Since you know about the library, I can only assume you weren't there that day." Scuffing sounds come out from behind the wall, and the invisibility fades away. Not that it helps all that much with providing clues to his appearance, as a balaklava covers his head and face, and much of the rest of his body is covered in a repaired Xmen uniform, with a pack and a rifle at his back. "I don't remember any students who could turn into robots at least." “It /is/ handy,” the robot opines with obvious pleasure in the thought. “No. Not there so often by then. Grow up and you do not get to stay in Neverland, you know. Well. Maybe not you. You stayed.” Another giggle rolls from the metallic form. “Not so simple. I did not used to do robots so much. But then they put them /everywhere/. Robot people. They /move/ so much better than most other forms, you know.” The robot's torso writhes a little, serpentine, like a person feeling out the movement available in their spine. "Neverland had duties and responsibilities. It just seems to have failed," Faelan says gesturing around at the rubble. "And at least the robots are nice for you. I do my best to avoid them, at least until they are in pieces on the ground." He nudges one with his foot. "Sometimes even then I don't want to be anywhere near them in case they have functioning bits." Looking towards the sack he thinks, then looks back to the robot body. "At least you have plenty of options. Are you building things yourself then? Or managed to team up with a technician?" "See, that is the people. They are why we cannot have nice things. Blow them up. Make them kill all the people with magic." Leaning down, the robot's fingertips run along a metal arm no longer attached to its body. "The robots are lovely. The people make them do terrible things. I take them back and they get to do better things. Isn't that nice?" A flicker of a smirk answers the technician question. "I am not clever enough for making robots. I have a wizard. She builds me good bodies and so many friends to play with." "Yeah, at least things are better the further away from cities you get. Less people out there," Faelan smiles, or at least the tugging at the edges of the balaklava makes it seem that way. He nods as he parses out the meaning behind the reuse of the robot parts and hrms at the talk of a wizard. "I occasionally talk to someone who helps me out with stuff. Granted, she made all the toys I always used so having her repair it makes most sense. But I've gotten the impression she needs some fixing herself." He offers a shrug at that, and squats down looking at robot bits to make sure that they aren't particularly in a functional mood. "I'd say more, but well, secrets keep people alive these days it seems. Do the robots still keep memory of when you're in the body?" "Yes. That is the way to work. Come back here to convert the robots, mostly. Or when my wizard needs something done." The robot's head tilts. "Your person is also a robot? My wizard is good at fixing. Only when she wants to, though. I could ask, but there would need to be something in it for her. Her time is very precious. Many things to do when you are terribly clever." The robot /smiles/ at that. "Oh no. If I do not take a robot with me for my wizard to fix, I break it. They should never have to work for the bad people." "Not sure, she might be part it. She wears armor at the very least," Faelan offers another shrug to continue to keep things vague. "I'll tell you a signal frequency I can be contacted at. Perhaps I can let them know about your wizard," he smiles again at that "and well, perhaps they may work together. Or perhaps they already know of each other." He does dig out some small bits from the rubble and slips it into a pouch. "And good to know about the operational security at least. They," he says gesturing cityward, "know too much about me from the rescue mission to begin with. I'd rather that they not learn more about my habits." “So much perhapsing. I will contact you. Maybe you will have a good enough offer for me to bring to my wizard.” The girl-sentinel finally does shove the concrete block off of the last downed 'bot to collect more tech from it. “It is hard to know about me, really. Every now and then a robot goes rogue and takes out a bunch of other robots. Strange quirk they have, don't you think?” Were there adequate eyebrow to loft, there would be one climbing impressively just now. “Rescue mission?” "It's easier to talk in perhapses. Less worry then when everything changes out from under your feet," Faelan nods at the contact thing and takes out a small worn card from an inner pocket and shows a string of numerals to the robot. "It's hard to know about me either. I prefer to be gone before there is a threat, and knowing I was there in the first place requires cataloging what is now missing." Speaking of missing, he is making more and more little bits disappear from the already picked over stuff. "Yeah, we got everyone we could out of a camp. Moved them far far away." Letting out a sigh he shakes his head. "We lost a few people in the process too. And some people were... broken in the process. You start to weigh life against another life and it gets painful." The girl-Sentinel scans over the numbers, then nods. “Probably that is the best plan when you have to put your body in danger. Do not stick around for too long.” She quiets, ripping through the metal body in front of her at the talk of the camps. “That is not something we do, usually. Usually just break and convert the robots. People...” The robot's head shakes. "As I said, Duties and Responsibilities," Faelan places his hand on the X at his chest as he looks to Liabot sincerely. "If I'm wearing this, it means that I'm not just representing me, but the ideals of a man now dead. And unfortunately, that means saving lives. Besides, its something that I can do. You can break things by being a robot. I can get in and out of a place. With or without other people and things." He shrugs and readjusts his pack, taking out a little notebook and making marks in it. "That was everything I can get out of these. I have other things on my list to grab. You?" "Yes..." The robot looks a little vague at the X-men talk. "I can get in and out of places, but it is often harder to take things with me the way I go." Its head shakes at the question. "Once I am finished with this, I should bring it back. It is best not to stay on top of a particular kill-site for too long. Pop up. Here, there. Unpredictable. It is best." "Be well then. I wish you luck in destroying as many robots as you can find so they can't be made to hurt anyone else." Faelan puts his notebook back away, he pulls out a small phone and swipes along the surface. "Good hunting, and perhaps we will see each other again." His focus is intent on the screen in his hand, and a few moments later he was simply gone, or invisible. Who knows. “Good luck,” the robot offers in return before resuming her collection. “Don't die.” | |
