UnitP0N13

Malik would have no hope of sneaking up to the window without alerting anypony inside the house: his armor plating was too loud. Instead, he decided to try a more direct approach, maybe teach a few ponies that a flimsy door won't mean a damn thing when you've got a Pegatron knocking at your door. Hopefully, this will also intimidate them into not making any sudden moves or making a run for it. He stepped back a little, winding up for his ambush, and leapt at the door with all of his strength. (Strength Roll to bust down the door: 44)

*hugs the Rainbow Dash* Eeeeeee, so soft!~ >u<

"Perhaps I can be of service then! I'll help look for a trail!" Malik declared in his usual sing-song voice, immediately eye the ground, practically scraping his eyes into the ground. A good portion of scrapes and dust has collected on his eyes over the years, clouding his vision somewhat, but his eyesight was still decent. He really should get them replaced, though. However, he hasn't heard about any Pegatron mechanics out there in the Wasteland, or any unbroken TV sets, so any chance of replacements would be slim. Nonetheless, he searched for the eavesdropper's tracks. (Perception roll to assist: 27)

I'm thinking about starting up a fanfic about the recent Amnesia game coming out. Most likely, I'll be following the plot of the game in a relatively canon fashion while taking a few, but necessary dives to explain a few things via memories. But for now, I'll just give everyone a quick preview. *** Two men stood in a room only lit only by shadows, the air filled with the scent of burning wax. The first man took a seat in a fine leather chair, staring back down at the plans of this great 'machine' that the second man had spoken of, "capable of curing starvation for England" as he put it. The first made a sigh. "I admire your vision, Mandus, I truly do! But surely there are not enough pigs in the whole of London to feed the appetite of such a machine!" The second man pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose again. "That all rather depends, professor..." the second man known as Mandus pulled a rusted cage out from under the furniture, grinning a little, though his grin could not be seen in the light of such darkness. A cage that contained a frightened, shivering filly, covered in bruises and clearly malnourished. "...on what one considers to be a pig."

Um...can this robopony get a big hug from you? ^///^

Malik sighed. He hated it when he was right. Well, sometimes. Other than the times he wished he wasn't right, he was pretty stoked about being right 90.5% of the time. Er, that is, he would be if he wasn't fed up with the Rangers by now. Malik has stumbled upon better chapels before, where the only real fault was the Rangers being a bit too overprotective of their citizens and smothering everything in safety procedures. His frustration, however, was replaced by curiosity as Silver Heart stepped out of the barn. What was she doing out there? Weren't they going to (gently) interrogate the Rangers? Malik slowly followed behind, wondering if maybe she felt sick and needed some fresh air. "What 'chya doin'?" The inquisitive bot asked after a few moments of silence.

"Yes, actually. Do you know the whereabouts of a place called Haven?" Malik inquired. The Steel Rangers are spread out far and wide, so the robot figured they may have picked up on a rumor or two. It was worth checking, even though he had a sneaking suspicion that Potbelly probably knew less then the rest of us here. And by the way he's been eyeing the kitchen...he probably cared less, too. Seriously, how can one even be that fat out in the Wasteland? Either you're well-fed and dying from radiation poisoning from the food, or starving to death.

Kept to himself for the most part. He really did not want to part with his harddrive with people he found...somewhat distasteful. One thing that was starting to bother him was how most of the people they came across only seemed to notice Silver's Pipbuck, as if that was the only thing about her worth mentioning. Malik looked towards Silver, wondering how people managed to overlook her prettiness. Then he looked away after a few moments when he realized he was staring, his eyes turning a bit pink from embarrassment. He turned his attention back to the conversation at hand.

"Well, I can't actually part with mine since it's built into me, but thankfully I'm not hell-bent and pissing everyone off today. So it won't be a problem." The robot shot a stern look (or so it seemed) towards Beanie Toe to emphasize his point before walking through and following Beanie grudgingly. While, yes, this would have been a pretty awesome, yet reasonable lie, it really was the truth. Malik's minigun has been with him ever since he booted up, and he's found no way of detaching it from his weapon's system due to the fact that he can't reach around his back and dismantle it (since it's actually inside his back). And he trusted /no one/ with task if tinkering around inside of him, so they were just going to have to put up with him. Either way, he was going to get the information he needed, even if he had to stare down the barrels of the Rangers. It wasn't the first time, and it probably wasn't going to be the last.

Malik immediately assumed an voice of authority. He was damn well not about to waste time watching the two go at each other's throats. "Lock it down, both of you," He appeared to leer at the both of them with his television-glass eyes. "Right now, we need to focus on finding the killer, and I'm not going to wait around just so you two can compare dicks all day long. If we're going to be let in, all of us are going to be in and we're all going to be nice to each other, and I'm going to tell you why. I am around three hundred pounds of steel and gun with little patience for your childishness, and if I have to stand here for another fifteen seconds while you threaten one another, I am going to be considerably less tolerant of it." The whisper of his vents as they quietly circulated the air for his systems turned into to a dull roar as his frustration grew. He barely realized how much the ground had cracked where his hooves were from exerting so much force and weight onto it. Quite frankly, he didn't care. There was a filly with one less parent and only one friend to console her. He was not letting the killer get away over something as stupid as this.

This video changed my views a little. I kinda have to agree with a lot of what they say: Faith is not illogical, merely the people who chose to ignore everything else for it. Honestly, I can't help but wonder what life would be like religious faith wasn't so flammable or preachy against other faiths, but rather just a means of making each other more connected, more motivated to do good and to help our neighbors. No bibles or any of that stuff. Just a small, little belief that somewhere out there, a powerful being is watching over us. The reason religious fervor and unreason still exists is because there is no moderation. For a visual example, picture this: You have a bathtub. Say you want to take a light bath today, but you want it as quickly as possible and jerk the faucet head off to the side. Egads! Disaster has struck, and you are left with one less faucet head with a tub that is quickly filling up with really hot water! As you quickly go to get up, the water splatters your leg, you jump up in pain, land, slip, fall, hit your head on floor of the bathtub and are slowly boiled in your own bathtub, which has now begun to flood, Bummer. But I believe that the quote "Too much of a good thing can be bad" goes perfectly with this. With out any religious restraint on part of preachers and worshipers, fervor begins to arise along with the need to isolate ourselves from any religion that does not agree with out own. In this scenario, the faucet head is the restraint, and the water is our religious faith. 'You', are...well, pretty much any religious minority with a chance of being slaughtered due to religious fervor (or too much of it, to be specific). It's okay to like warm water, but at some point, you've got to stop raising the heat or it'll get out of hand and someone will get hurt.

Absolutely not. I will not bow to a god that killed his own angels because they weren't perfect, tried to drown us because we are not perfect, and will not even humble himself to get off his plot, come downstairs, and talk with us every so often like normal joe's. Even then I'm not going to worship someone just because they tell me to. And the only people I have to repent to are the people I wronged.

"This job will go much faster if you don't call me 'it'. I'm a colt, even if I am a robot." He let out an electronic huff before turning around and heading for the barn. Honestly, it's like people don't even don't even listen to his voice or even look at him. Then again, he is kinda featureless. But it made him mad whenever people called him 'it' just because he isn't made of those disgusting meat bags called organs, or flesh, or keratin. He has feelings too.

Malik enjoyed the little bit of praise he received. But he figured it was a about time the group got down to some good 'ole fashion adventuring. "We'll be back soon, little one. Keep my hat safe until then, okay?" The robot spoke to the filly, then looked to her friend. "From where we're standing, which direction should we keep walking to get to Shantytown?"

Malik nodded to Dawn, standing back up. "I'm ready, willing, and fully capable!" The bot stamped the ground. Whoever did this was going to pay. Although Malik has never really been one for revenge, the senseless murder of the filly's only parent made his circuits spark. Figure of speech, of course. However, he did show a bit of concern towards Guardian's remark. He didn't have anything against him or the Rangers, per se...although he was a tiny bit upset that he wasn't mentioned for his kindness despite giving up his one of his most prized possessions. Seriously, that was the only party hat he's seen out in the Wastes, and he only came upon it by chance. But now it belongs to the filly, and while he certainly didn't like to hear her swearing at him, he wouldn't have it any other way. Alas...poor party hat. He knew it well...and-...er, something about ratios. What was that book called again? Ham Outlet? Well no wonder the quote hardly stuck in his hard drive, he probably couldn't even take the book seriously for a single line. Where was he again...? Oh right. He didn't hate the Rangers in any form or fashion, but he has seen enough of the Rangers to know that underneath all of that armor, training, and discipline, they are just as pony as anyone else in the Wastes. The only thing keeping them from turning around on their heels and engulfing a town they sought to protect in flames was their morals and willpower against the vices of the Wasteland. That, and each other. A strict, militaristic system is a good way to keep the mind from being lured by the vices...but that's not to say it always works. Most of the time, someone gets drunk and decides its a good idea to toss a tin can in the air and shoot it when it nears the ground. But a trained soldier at his or her worst is a nightmare...but he's seen them before, but in a group. He shakes his head of the thought. He'd rather not begin recalling that particular memory.

Malik flinches a little. Is heart sank as he managed to pass on his favorite hat, but none of his wisdom at all. Perhaps he had forgotten that the Wastes has no pity for children or the weak, and will change and corrupt anypony at its will. Even children could turn bitter to dull out the pain... Maybe because he was a robot with ugly, charred, scarred armor. He never went for looks and, well, maybe that's why people found him so displeasing when trying to reach out for people. But he believed this was a case of a broken heart and a pony who's starting to cast aside her kindness to stifle the heartbreak of losing her father. And we she did hurt his feelings...he didn't blame her. She didn't have much of anyone to trust anymore, save her friend. And the Wastes...the Wastes is no place to not have a friend.

(Whoopsie. My post didn't make through this morning. Odd. Also I apologize if this turns into a wall of text, the posty thingy is being really weird today.) As Silver Heart conversed with the colt, Malik trotted over to the filly and knelt down to her, gently wiping a tear from her eye with his hoof. "Hey, don't cry, little miss...we'll find the people who killed your father, okay?" He spoke softly, doing his best to comfort the filly. "Hey, you like hats, right? Here..." The robot takes off his party hat and gives it to the filly. "It's a very silly hat, and it's bound to make you laugh even when you want to cry. You see, ponies used to celebrate very special days called 'birthdays'. They give gifts to the person who has turned a year older and they all celebrate with cake and party blowers and these funny little hats. But it's only for one day..." He stoops a little lower, and seems almost like he's smiling for a moment, despite not having a face. "But...you wanna know a secret? When you put this hat on, -every day- is a very special day. If you can laugh, giggle, or even smile a little when you're down in the dumps, it makes everything just a little better. But it's more fun when you're laughing with friends," He held a hoof out to her. "Whaddya say, pal? Wanna be my friend?"

Hello there fellow atheist bronies. I'm an atheist, and my girlfriend happens to be Catholic (if I recall. Let's just say she's Christian), and we both believe in the virtue of not forcing your own belief on others, especially when they believe in a different religion. I once theorized that the bible was written solely as a tool for governing people and bending them to your will. And, when you think about it, it kinda has been. Templars were rallied to kill innocent people simply because they happened to be in the Templars's path and they also happened to believe in a slightly different form of Christianity (if I recall, my mind's a bit fuzzy on the specifics), or they just didn't believe in Christianity at all. People in England were getting robbed of their money buying slips of paper that would ensure their sins would be cleansed or that they could go to heaven long ago. Now you got people blowing themselves up for 72 virgins that may or may not exist, or be comprised of the last 72 dudes that blew themselves up. Instead of loving and attending to their *real* wives (makes becoming obsessed with video game characters pale in comparison). Even if they do exist, you'd probably end up as a pile of human meat pudding. You also have people who have their own...really odd forms of christianity that view women as filth, has a specific amount of days you can't touch things because of filth, and has an atomic baby that will be released upon this world. That's right. An atomic baby. The sad part is, no matter how ludicrous the religion is, the people who worship it view it as the norm mostly because they were *born* into it. They've been surrounded by it for so long, what else are they to believe? That frying pans aren't symbols of sexuality and that cows aren't secretly out to get your soul?

Malik made no hesitation to make chase after the foals. He had to know what was going on. "Wait up!" the robot galloped after them, following them into the alleyway. He didn't care to stick around long enough to hear Guardian Angel's answer. If the foals have no parents and no weapon, the chances of there survival are incredibly low should a band of raiders drop by or anything else. Even if protecting these foals meant taking them under his wing for the moment, he would do it. It's better than not doing anything at all for them.

"Silver Heart? That's a very pretty name!" He almost said 'for a pretty pony', but he realized that he might seem like he's hitting on her rather than complementing her. Boy, that would've been awkward, and just thinking about is giving him the vapors. ...wait. Robots don't sweat. Phew. For a second, he thought he was going to light up in a dazzling display of sparks and fireworks, or at the very least smell funny. Then again, he can't smell, but he doubted that everyone here smelled like roses. Not a lot of showers out here in the Wastes. "Well, Silver, I lived in a library a while before I came here to this bar. I spent a good portion of my time reading and recording data from the books I found. I managed to learn a great deal, and I was hoping to go through the whole library of books...unfortunately, some raider thought it would be funny if they threw an incendiary apple while I was still inside. So while I might be well-learned in a variety of topics, skill and knowledge are two very different things. I don't have any experience in actually patching up a pony, but I could possibly give it a decent shot if I tried. Hopefully..." Malik chuckled sheepishly, not wanting to think about touching anything remotely liquid. Like blood. Dear god, the blood. "Point is, I'm pretty sure you're the only here with any real medical experience. Aside from that, I hope your time out here in the Wastes hasn't been to harsh on you. It must be a lot to take in after living in the Stable for so long."

Malik would have frowned at Raptor's comment if he had any lips to manipulate. Nevertheless, he had a feeling that he wasn't going to like this merc' fellow. He already didn't like him simply for being a merc, due to the fact that most of the time Talon mercs showed up it was to collect your corpse and the bounty on your head. At least, this was Malik's experience. From what he's heard, they mainly go after do-gooders, which the robot himself would fall under, and perhaps the others as well, especially Silver from what she said about her background. He'd have to keep a close eye on this one. Not sure what he's doing in this group or why, but mercs don't tend to be very nice. For all he knows, the griffin could be planning to lure the group out to his buddies, if he has any. But there's no use in throwing wild accusations with no base or evidence to support it. Conjecture would get him no where in a group full of strangers. For now, the best thing to do is to watch...and wait. Malik turned to Silver and spoke to her, just so she wouldn't have to respond to the rather shady griffon. No need for arguments this early on, much less loss of life or limb as a result. "So you're our medic, then? Good to have you aboard Miss...actually, I don't think you told us your name yet. Nicknames and aliases are fine if you'd rather keep your name to yourself, I just think it'd be more polite to use your name rather than call you 'medic' all the time." The bot chuckled a little. "Well, that and we wouldn't want to draw fire to you in case anyone facing off against us decides to get smart after hearing 'medic!' and scopes out anyone running to our aid with medical supplies."

The robot cut the music for a moment to introduce himself. "I'm Pegatron Model-M4L1K, but you may refer to me as 'Malik'. I've fought a fair share of my own battles out here in the Wastes trying to protect the innocent ponies who live out here. If any of you need mobile cover, I'll be glad to assist. That's not to say I don't have my own weaponry, though." Malik states in a rather cheery tone. He looked to the map and studied it carefully. "As for this thing...I'm not sure if I ever charted my travels in the Wasteland. Regrettably, I won't be able to help very much with the map...oh, hold on! If anyone here has one of those doo-dads that the Vault Dwellers wear on their hoof, we could probably cross-reference the map the device has with this map here...if the stallion wasn't horribly drunk when he drew up the map. We might end up having to explore the highlighted landmarks anyway to find out what's actually there, because I can barely read this offensively terrible handwriting." The robot gave out a electronic huff, shaking his head at the god awful writing for each landmark. "Honestly, he could've at least stayed sober for the time he was making this map."

Pegatron Model-M4L1K, also known as Malik, put on his thinking cap (a party hat), but rather than spend a few moments in thoughtful contemplation towards their first move towards Haven, he just did what he's always done: he flicked on his radio and started getting down to the upbeat tune of the music. He wasn't one for leading, so he stayed silent, and kept his music to a low and tolerable level of volume, all the while strutting his metal hooves to and fro. He remains silent for the most part. He doesn't have a plan and quite frankly couldn't care less. As long as a journey was involved, there were people to save, and he had his radio with him, nothing else really mattered. He'll let someone else do the thinking until needed.