[Video] Arrival of A Terminator

[unclebob]

[At first glance, the face on the screen looks handsome, though perhaps a little intense. Staring off into the distance, the Terminator holds the locket in a fragile grip, like he’s afraid he might break it. Then he turns his face into the camera’s view and the once-handsome features turn into a nightmarish looking visage. The right side has mostly been ripped away, revealing the metal skull and glowing red eye beneath the bloody organic covering. He looks like he's been put through the ringer and no mistake. A fairy hovers in and out of the video, occasionally perching on his shoulder. He keeps shrugging it off. With only one working hand, he can't swat the little pest away.]

Is this device working properly?

[He doesn't wait for an answer. If it is working correctly, he'll know soon enough by the response he gets. The Terminator stares off again, turning the locket so that whoever’s watching gets a good shot of what he’s staring at: the flowery barrier between the Station and the rest of the Drabwurld.]

I cannot cross.

[His voice is flat, but underneath, there’s a current of wonderment. He’s never found anything able to keep a Terminator in check before. To have it happen now is a curiosity that he wants to explore further. He takes a few steps more, until he’s right at the edge of the line, but he doesn't cross over. He's had enough of the sensation of glitching and his systems shutting down for one day, thank you very much. He stands there, far too still to be natural, like he's waiting for the barrier to just disappear and let him cross. Hey, in this place, anything could happen.]

Comments

[duplicitoussight]

That's an awful situation.

[He hmms.] Don't you think it's probably the work of that fairy following you around?

[notavirtue]

[It really wasn't a good thing. The only machines he'd ever tolerated, and just barely, were the ones Shepard barred him from tossing out the airlock.]

I am prothean. Tell me where you are, now.

[unclebob]

[That's not a full answer, but it'll do for a start. At least he can start add in a word into his databanks in reference to this intense stranger.]

The place referred to as the Station.

[unclebob]

[He turns his head to glare at the little creature. It gives an alarmed squeak that can be heard over the locket and shakes its head no in a vigorous manner. Well, that settles that for the machine.]

I do not think so. A theory has been put forth that it has to do with the magic in this place.

[unclebob]

Situation? What kind of a situation? [There's something about that pause that the Terminator picks up on. Vocal stresses in humans usually mean something important.]

Would that work? [The question is directed at the fairy sitting on his shoulder. It hesitates for a long moment before it dips its head in a curt nod. Great. Now the Terminator just needs to find someone powerful enough and willing to help him out.]

[chromosomes]

Giant worms. [ Good catch, Terminator. ]

There are several people around here with magic. I can talk to them, see about making a trek that way to get you out of there. [ At least the fairy seems to think it would work, which means they have more of a chance of it working than he really thought. ] Maybe we can find someone to patch up your face, too.

[notavirtue]

[The Station - he'd seen that word scrawled on the map (the paper map), but hadn't been able to make much sense of it. It was a word that didn't match the others, and now he was getting inkling as to why.]

State your purpose, your function.

[If it wasn't 'kill all humans' he'd assume it was lying.]

[unclebob]

[Now there's something to give him pause. His primary mission to protect John was over and done with. It should've been ended when he was put into the steel. Now that he was here, he was at a loss of what his new mission status was. What was it John had told him? He was no longer a Terminator. His secondary mission was not yet complete.]

I am to learn what it means to be human.

[unclebob]

Sounds fun. [He's going to be disappointed on missing out on all the carnage. After all, it's what he was originally made for.]

[He searches his databank for an appropriate response. Possible options all include some variation of the phrase 'Thank you,' so he picks one from a list.] You have my thanks. The organic covering-- my face, it will heal on its own in time.

[chromosomes]

They regenerate. [ Extra fun. Well. "Fun". ]

Let's hope so. [ 'Organic covering'. Good thing Sam isn't here or she'd try and get samples. ] You have a name or... designation, or something?

[chiot]

[ He'll wrinkle up his nose, narrow his eyes, and think really hard about that, though. ]

...

I know you're sayin' an' speakin' words, an' I know what mosta those words mean, but...

I still don't understand nuffin'.

voice;

[altercate]

You're really worried about walking around right now?

[ half your face is missing, man!! ]

[notavirtue]

[Just like the Normandy's AI, then. It was a nice sentiment, one that made everyone else blind to the inevitable betrayal. The hesitation before answering hadn't done it any favors, either.]

And how do you intend to do this? Clearly you have taken damage, so it cannot be a peaceful method.

[duplicitoussight]

[Right. Now that he thinks about it, his cell phone hasn't been working. It wasn't that he wasn't getting no service--rather, the device won't turn on at all.]

... so fairies really are tricksters. How mean of them to bring something like you here. You're not really useful like this, are you?

[unclebob]

Yes. I do not want to be confined to one area.

[His priorities are a tad skewed, but that's what happens when one can't feel pain the way humans do.]

[unclebob]

Have you tried extreme temperatures? [He's got quite a bit of experience facing an opponent that could regenerate. Cold and heat had worked wonders for him.]

I am a Terminator. Was a Terminator. [He stands up a little straighter.] 800 series Model 101.

[unclebob]

[He searches his databank for the simplest terms applicable to the situation.]

I am....a machine. Human on the outside, metal inside.

[unclebob]

[The Terminator glares out of his mismatched eyes.]

You assume too much.

[And that's all the answer Javik is going to get. He has no need to explain himself further to this demanding prothean.]

[unclebob]

Yes. It is of no concern. I am in need of maintenance before I can fulfill any purpose.

[He'll spare Kano the details. His intuition tells him this particular human won't like hearing about how he's missing an arm in addition to what's going on to his face.]

[chromosomes]

Fire seems to work. Burning them, anyway. It's also definitely more accessible than extreme cold.

[ Yeah, he was right. This guy -- robot -- person? -- could be useful. John might even like him. ]

Well. That's a mouthful. [ Not that his is better. ] Staff Sergeant John Grimm.

[duplicitoussight]

In that case, don't you think you should ask your dear monarchs for help? You know what side you're on, don't you?

[unclebob]

I shall keep this in mind if I encounter one of these creatures.

[The mention of staff sergeant puts him back in familiar territory. Well, as familiar as he's going to be in a magical land with an honest-to-God fairy on his shoulder. He doesn't smile, exactly, unused to the expression, but his face does become more relaxed.]

Army or Marines?

[unclebob]

Seelie. [The Terminator frowns. He's been a protector his entire existence, one who gave help instead of asked for it. It had never even occurred to him the monarchy might be able to help his problem.] Do you think they would have enough power to solve the problem?

[chromosomes]

If you do, let me know. We're tracking the attacks as best we can.

[ Familiar enough, at least, and John knows how much that can be a comfort. There's almost a grin, something like a twitch of his lips and a different light in his eyes. ]

Marines. RRTS -- Rapid Response Tactical Squad -- Hellfighters, if you're looking for specifics.

[ No one's ever looking for specifics, but the guy's a machine, he probably loves them. As much as a machine can love anyone. ]

[unclebob]

You shall be the first one I inform. [And now he's wondering if a worm will actually show up in the limited radius of the Station. He may be broken-down, but he's not ready to be turned into scrap metal just yet. Then his systems register the plural form of the sentance.]

We? Who is we?

[He searches for an appropriate facial expression to accompany his question, settling on a raised eyebrow that would look less out of place if he actually possessed two of them right now.]