Beeps and Buzzes

🦕 ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 11

　　　
"

I can do this, I got this!" was your mantra, and your singular cohesive thought.

Steadily figuring how to handle such an imposing mechanical balladeer, cutting through all these pesky rip-offs with blade-like appendages that were coated in cruel webbs of electricity. Turns out they were incapable of registering one of their own as a threat, working to your benefit.

Brawling across Hong Kong, embodying your new role as a brute, throwing your weight around and finding it incredibly therapeutic. Years of standing by, dwarfed by those who held unfathomable power, now you could finally stand and feel like a true equal among gods!

Slinging a copy down as it approached from behind, watching it squirm pathetically before its wails faded to nothingness. Finding no remorse for your barbaric actions, merely getting up again to rinse and repeat this cycle of violence.

"I get knocked down... but I get up again... nothing gonna bring me down" trailing off into an out-of-sync hum, mashing the lyrics till it became wholly unrecognisable.

Trotting down a barren street, stepping over a fallen body, acute hearing detecting a greater battle happening a short distance away.

Then, you paused. Struck by a singular realisation.

Your teammates would only see you as an enemy, just another Stinger model to annihilate. Things needed to change before you were involuntarily butchered by an ally - colour scheme would be the easiest way to amend things. You didn't have the time to puzzle out an entirely new look.

Steering down an ally, falling into a leaden footed jog, raising an armoured servo into full view where those toxic pinks were traded in for a considerably more appealing [F/C]. Momentarily appreciating this chameleon-like transition; seconds later for you to ram into the next victim of your aggression, aggressively decapitating it.

Close by, a defiant bellow tore your attention swayed to the pinnacle of conflict.

Shoving the limp body aside, vision narrowing upon another swarm of fake Transformers closing in on a torn up apartment complex. Thunderous gunfire, explosions, deep roars of fury - Hound was obviously having a blast, so why not join in?

Entering the scene, leaping forwards, a perfectly timed hi-kick brought a foe off-balance. Finishing things by tearing out its Spark, tossing it aside, overly enthusiastic in dispatching a brutal form of justice keeping as many enemies off Hounds back as possible!

In time, you succeeded in conquering this wave. Winding back your shoulder, the vessel mimicking your stretches. Ambling towards a breathless Hound, pretty much exhausted of all ammo and options.

Poor guy.

"Seems like I arrived just in time-" thoughts intercepted by a warming blaster, peering down at your very prominent shadow. Cade had taken aim, stopped solely by your vessel's unique appearance which heavily contrasted other Stinger models.

Directing both arms upwards, surrendering very quickly "Hey, woah, take it easy man! It's me, [Y/N]!"

Zooming in on his face, realising the man hadn't so much as budged beyond a raised brow. This then begged the question on how to convince a born and bred - facing an Alien apocalypse - Texan to put his gun down.