robothell | OPEN | Unacceptable.

Who: Miranda Lawson and You
Where: Outskirts of the city near natural energon deposits
When: It is a mystery.
What: STANDARD PROTOCOL TO DETERMINE - you know what, fuck it, Miranda is prodding things to make sure she didn't just end up in the ass end of Reaper space.
Warnings: TBD.

The regulations for investigating an alien planets she had employed here were so old she idly wondered if she needed to teach herself something quaint like digging a fire pit before worrying about finding sentient life. Her priorities were simple enough: establish organic life can be supported, and assume hostile with potential encounters. The first matter at hand she was seeing to after making her way out of that abandoned, impossibly large city onto the outskirts. Using her omni-tool she was glad to have upgraded from the typical colony hardware for something a little more streamlined and reliable, she was already able to locate a source of water. From there she started examining strange natural growths sprouting around the depositing of a yet to be defined mineral.

"Calcium. Magnesium. Trace amounts of a few water-soluble vitamin." Her brow knit together and her lip curls as she checks then re-checks the readings on the haptic interface of her omni-tool, "It's a damn tuber."

Water and space potatoes. Absolutely incredible. Well, at least she won't starve to death in the near future.

"Should make sure the energy spikes coming off this...whatever it is hasn't contaminated the vegetation." She said aloud, to no one. Speaking to herself knowing at least the company was on par with her standards.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Scavenging so far into the city outskirts makes Mayday nervous - but then most situations do - but he's yet to find enough components to build a single functioning ship out of closer to the city center, so he's been forced to look further afield.

He's distracted enough muttering to himself over his newest acquisition that he doesn't hear Miranda. He doesn't notice her at all until he rounds a corner, dragging his makeshift sled, and spots movement out of the corner of his optic. With a loud yelp he drops the part he's been eying and prepares to abandon sled if he's happened across something dangerous.

"Shit."

Miranda caught sight of Mayday on her omni-tool before he came careening in with that salvaged sled in toe. The readings were going haywire; the sort of red flags that put the chill in your bones because the scanners were confused as if it should be alerting geth or rampant AI presence. Neither of which were good.

Already on edge that it was putting the fray on even her nerves, Miranda ducked behind the nearest rock formation large enough to shield her and far enough from those strange and potentially volatile energy source. Miranda did the next best thing to attempting communication - she poked her head over cover and opened fire. A handful of warning shots aimed close enough to mean business.

Oh sweet Allspark, he is under attack! Mayday shrieks, loudly and shrilly enough it can almost be mistaken for a sonic weapon (or a fax machine), and promptly displays his remarkable survival skills by panicking thoroughly.

What does he do? What does he do?! He- he should run for cover, or maybe fire back, or-

Instead of doing any of the slightly more sensible things, he simply stops screaming and drops limply onto his back, pretending to be dead. Yes, stranger, you totally hit him, now please leave and don't loot his 'corpse'!

The shriek was a surprise. Shrill, and lacking that metallic snap of a fried mainframe that implies some sort of short circuit or other internal failure. She knows she didn't hit him which left only one conclusion. That was an honest to goodness cry of fright from something several times her size, and made of metal.

Miranda is, of course, doubtful of the surrender let alone that this thing was even dead in the first place. Weapon drawn she moves out behind cover and has his gun trained on the massive metal heap on the ground.

She can see it cowering and is curious to know how something synthetic can shiver.

"Get up."

She snapped, more disgusted at this display than fearful that it was still a great deal larger than her and possibly armed.

Mayday cringes and peeks at his assailant as she demands he get up. Apparently she didn't buy his 'I am dead' act. That may have have something to do with the fact that he can't stop his knees from shaking.

He holds up his arms in what's hopefully the universal sign of 'please don't shoot me', but fails to get up. "I-I-I- I, um. Don't think I can?"

Not with his knees knocking out Flight of the Bumblebee against each other.

He finally gets a good look at her, and his optics widen. "...human?"

Despite flying low and having her sensors open, Slipstream nearly misses the little organic signature in the midst of the giant energon deposit's hotspot, and it takes her another pass to lock in a visual.

A human! A real, honest-to-Allspark human! She's spotted a couple other organic signatures around, but never out in the open like this, and she slows on her third sweep around the area, jets thrumming lowly and teal wings wiggling in greeting before she lands a couple dozen yards away, transforming just in time for her heels to his the ground instead of her landing gear.

"Hey there," she calls, friendly-like, a hand on her hip and a smirk on her face.

Whatever thoughts Miranda had about using her comms device to hail down the aircraft she picked up on died when it...changed, right before her eyes. Miranda steeled herself for a number of scenarios when that thing touched ground before she could react and find cover. A feral geth juggernaut with virulent Reaper code, god forbid, some new breed of Reaper yet to be encountered until her misfortune piled against her.

And then it said hey there. Thrown, Miranda unconsciously took a step back and her mind reeled to process two simple words.

"You understand English."

She said, carefully, standing tall as she tightened her hand behind her back. If push came to shove she could disrupt that things system and make a run for it.

"Yes, I do," Slipstream answers, in a voice unmistakably feminine, her face twisted into something like amusement. "So do you, it seems! It's amazing, isn't it, how two people could both speak the same language?"

Where Miranda is standing tall, Slipstream crouches down, one claw-like robot hand pressed to the filthy surface of the planet to keep her balanced as she looks the human over. She's still massive, of course, but at least now she's not towering a good thirty feet over the woman. "You look pretty surprised over that," she adds, definitely amused. "Do you want to know the other languages I know? Je parle un peu français..."

That is an early 21st century patrol car. Well, patrol humvee would be more accurate (why the hell did the cops have humvees?). And yes, it was driving in the middle of this space planet. Additionally, it had no driver.

It does have the courtesy to roll to a stop to avoid kicking up some dirt while passing by Miranda's position, however.

"Energon. That's what's creating the signature."

OPEN | Unacceptable.

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